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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22597864">Law of the North</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonsfavouritetoy/pseuds/theonsfavouritetoy'>theonsfavouritetoy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Law of the North Collection [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU set in canon, Jon Snow-centric, Jon's canonical awkwardness in the company of pretty women, Law of the North I made up, M/M, Other stuff happens, POV Jon Snow, POV Theon Greyjoy, Power Dynamics, Slow Burn, Theon Greyjoy-centric, Theon's canonical crush on Robb, additional tags and characters to be added, but GoT doesn't happen, happy sappy (almost) ending, please read all notes, unbowed unbent unbeta'd, warnings will be in notes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 11:34:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>82,315</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22597864</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonsfavouritetoy/pseuds/theonsfavouritetoy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Balon Greyjoy has once again declared himself king, sealing his son's fate in the North. Jon doesn't like Theon, never has – but he also cannot stand aside and watch an innocent man being put to death. So he decides to do something that'll change everything.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Theon Greyjoy/Jon Snow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Law of the North Collection [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1828933</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1265</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>530</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmejude/gifts">callmejude</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So. This began with an ask prompt on tumblr I got from @callmejude ages ago. And you know how it is, inspiration strikes like a snake and suddenly here I am, writing not only the Tangled AU (planned out and almost finished) and a smutty modern AU (Tuesday) - but also this thing set in canon and I don't really know where it'll lead. </p><p>Shout out to @vocal_fries who kindly agreed to chat with me about this and has already proved a genius. Thank you ❤️</p><p>A little side note, when I needed a name for the law, I wanted to go with the Old Tongue. And since we know next to nothing about the Old Tongue, I looked up what Law of Responsibility means in Gaelic and came up with Lagh Uallach. That sounded too soft, so I kinda butchered it a bit ^^'</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The day dawns as bright and beautiful as only a summer day in the North can. There are a few clouds, not near enough to bar the sun from flooding the courtyard. It’s going to be a warm day, maybe the warmest they had so far. Jon is sweating in his doublet, too formal, too thick for standing out in the sunlight. Maybe it’s just nerves. The doors to the Great Hall open and Father walks out, followed by two men of the guard. And Theon, walking between them, gaze firmly on the ground. They come to stand in the middle of the yard, right in the sun, and yet Jon can see Theon shivering. The irony is too much, too cruel. How many times had Theon complained about the lack of sun up here? How often had he whined about being cold? And now he is standing in the warmest sunshine, and shivering. But not for the cold.</p><p>It’s hard to keep still during the words Father says. Jon is barely listening, hearing the tone rather than the words. Father’s voice is dull, not sounding like Lord Stark’s voice at all. His face is a grim mask, stony and pale. But not as pale as Theon’s. Jon tries not to look at him too much, but he can’t help it; every so often his gaze slips to the side. Theon seems to be somewhere else in his head, eyes huge and vacant. His lips are almost colourless. He’s still shivering. Jon looks away. This is hard enough as it is. </p><p>Father stops before the last part, nodding at Jory to take the children inside. Sansa’s eyes are red, she’s pressing a hand against her mouth as she follows Jory quickly, without a word, without a second glance. Arya doesn’t go so easily, and Jon has to force himself not to look after her as she is carried away. Arya would’ve been a great help with what Jon has to do, could’ve backed him up before Father. She doesn’t love Theon, but she knows what justice should look like. Rickon does look back, thumb in his mouth, round blue eyes confused. </p><p>“Has Theon been naughty?” he asks, but no one answers. </p><p>When they are well out of sight and safely inside, Father takes a deep breath. The last, ritual words are spoken, in the name of the king, a king who isn’t here, who doesn’t know Theon. It’s Harwin who holds out Ice in its sheath for Father to take. It’s strange, seeing someone else but Theon doing it. It’s usually him, carrying it for Father whenever he has to fulfill his duty, a not so subtle reminder of what was always hanging over his head. Not today. Not ever again. Jon shifts nervously. His collar feels too tight around his neck, too hot. The time has come, as he knew it would. He’s thought of nothing else for the past three days, has invented vague, lunatic plans and tossed them immediately. There is only one way. </p><p>One of the guards standing beside Theon gives him a pat on the shoulder, a lot gentler than he would with a stranger. His name is Alyn, usually a friendly man with an easy smile. He isn’t smiling now, and Jon wonders what he might be thinking of this. Like more of the other men he’s spent many a night drinking and gambling with Theon, has seen him grow up with the rest of them. And now he has to lead him here, has to practically drag him to Father. Theon’s feet seem frozen to the ground, but finally he stumbles forward. Father looks like he’s going to be sick, but still he doesn’t hesitate. Ice heavy in his hands he turns to face his ward. Jon closes his eyes for the tiniest of moments. His heart is beating fast, the only sound he can hear besides birds singing. The gathered men are eerily silent. Father’s mouth tightens, and Jon knows it’s now or never. </p><p>He takes a stumbling step forward, another, until he’s right in front of Theon, between him and Lord Stark. Jon’s hands are shaking, he’s feeling nauseous. This will change his life forever. And Theon’s. He won’t be happy about this, but then it has to be better than death. For a moment Jon wishes Robb were here, could do it in his stead. It would make more sense, Robb being the one. He’s Theon’s friend. Jon isn’t. But Robb is far away, and this is the only way. Jon raises his hands in the gesture Maester Luwin described to him, looking upon Father’s ashen face. </p><p>“I invoke Lakh Wal Lach,” he says, his voice breaking at the last word.  </p><p>He can feel more than hear the gasp travelling through the gathered people, but he does hear Theon’s strangled, choked cry. Jon ignores them all, gaze fixed on Father. He doesn’t say anything, only stares at Jon as if seeing him for the first time. He looks stricken. </p><p>“Jon,” he finally says, “are you absolutely sure…”</p><p>“I am.” Jon prays his words come out strong and firm. He isn’t sure at all. But… “Robb would do it if he were here. I can’t let you do this. It isn’t right.” </p><p>Father flinches at the mention of Robb, suddenly avoiding Jon’s gaze. A surge of disappointment has Jon’s stomach lurch. The haste had been deliberate. Three days, three days since the raven came with the news of the rebellion. Father must have wanted to get it over and done with before Robb comes back from Riverrun, before he could do what Jon is doing now, has to do. Jon doesn’t want to think of what Robb would say to him if he’d let this happen. He nods once more, jaw set. </p><p>“As you wish,” Father mumbles, something strange flickering over his face. “Lakh Wal Lach has been invoked. Jon, as of now you alone are responsible for everything Theon does, for his wellbeing… and for his crimes.” Father swallows, but goes on. “Should he decide to run, you will bear the sentence. Should he betray our house it shall be you receiving the punishment of… of death.”</p><p>Jon exhales in a rush, a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “Thank you, my lord,” he says with a slight bow, then turns around – coming face to face with Theon. He looks like he wants to strike Jon, eyes burning, mouth tight. His hands are balled into fists and he’s quivering with tension. </p><p>“Why the fuck would you do that,” he hisses, voice shaking with rage. “Why would you – <em> fuck you, bastard!</em>” </p><p>Jon can sense the men of the guard bristling. What Theon is doing is dangerous. Jon’s just a bastard, true. But he’s claimed Theon as his bond, his pledge. Theon can’t treat him like this anymore, the condemned has to answer to his guardian. Not that Jon had expected Theon to behave differently, but he’s violating a law of the North if he proves insubordinate in front of others. Swords are being drawn, and Theon’s eyes shift to the sides, his already white face paling further. </p><p>“You have to leave right now,” Jon says, low enough only Theon can hear him, accentuating every word. “You can yell at me later. Right now you have to fuck off before you get your head hacked off after all.”</p><p>Theon looks very much like he wants to say something. His eyes are wet, face pulled into a grimace. For one moment Jon thinks he’ll spit in his face. But finally he turns, taking off through the courtyard and out of sight. Jon sighs, a small part of the tension he’s carried the last few days leaving him. </p><p>“We’ll hold the ceremony once he’s calmed down. Tonight.”</p><p>Jon looks up at his father, coming to stand next to him. His face is wearing that same, strange expression Jon had seen a glimpse of before, and now he recognizes it for what it is: relief. Relief that he didn’t have to kill the boy he’s raised with his own children. Relief, maybe, that it hasn’t been his trueborn son and heir burdening himself with a pledge. </p><p>“Do you have a token in mind?” Father asks, searching Jon’s face.</p><p>Jon shrugs. “I’ll figure something out.” He looks in the direction Theon has vanished. He’ll have to go after him, find him. Tell him that nothing will change for him, not because of Jon. It’s a lie, of course some things will change. And Theon will hate Jon for all of it. Jon sighs. It’s going to get a lot worse. </p><p>This is just the beginning</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Okay, so.... wow. I'm totally blown away by the reception the first chapter got - and also horribly nervous because I really REALLY hope I won't disappoint with where I'm taking the story. Thank you guys so much, I'm so happy you're all here ❤️</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He goes to search for Theon as soon as the people in the courtyard have scattered, returning to their duties. Jon’s only duty at the moment is Theon, finding him, calming him down. Making sure he knows what’s at stake. Jon knows <em> him</em>, his impulsiveness, his knee-jerk reactions. He prays Theon hasn’t left the castle. Jon goes to Theon’s chamber first, and to his surprise the door is open, maids running in and out carrying Theon’s possessions around. </p><p>“What’s going on here?” he asks one of them. </p><p>She gives him a look of incomprehension. “We’re movin’ Lord Greyjoy’s things,” she says, “Lord Stark ordered he’s to get a new chamber nearer to yours.”</p><p>So he can keep an eye on Theon, probably. Jon shakes his head, barely able to suppress a sigh. So much for nothing will change. After making sure none of the girls have seen Theon, Jon ventures on. He searches the Glass Gardens, the stables – no horses missing, thank the gods, the armoury, the smithy, the Great Hall, the Broken Tower, even the Godswood. No trace of Theon. It’s as if he has vanished into thin air, and when the sun starts to set Jon’s insides are a tight knot of trepidation. If Theon doesn’t show up at the ceremony… Jon can only hope he’ll be there, for both of them. </p><p>Giving up the search Jon finally turns towards his own chamber, in an entirely different part of the castle than Theon’s old one. He has to find a token, something small he’s to present his pledge with, something Theon will have to keep about him as a constant reminder. The maester had said it could be anything, a piece of clothing, a weapon, jewellery. Jon doesn’t own any jewellery, nor are any of the weapons he trains with his. Clothing seems a bit of a stretch, as nothing of Jon’s would fit Theon’s lithe, tall frame. It’s a problem, one that Jon knows he needs to solve before setting foot into the hall tonight. Still deep in thought Jon pushes the door to his room open. And is welcomed with a slow clapping sound. </p><p>“There he is at last, my lord and saviour, Saint Bastard of bloody Winterfell!”</p><p>Jon sighs, closing the door behind himself. Theon is lounging on his bed, dirty boots still on his feet. Jon’s furs are thrown all over the place and the familiar annoyance at Theon takes over Jon’s tenseness. </p><p>“I’ve been looking for you,” he says, wincing at how accusatory he sounds. “What are you doing here?”</p><p>“Getting used to my new place, obviously.” Theon stretches, folding his arms behind his head. His face is tense, red eyes betraying the displayed casual attitude. “Am I not going to sleep at the foot of your bed, my lord and master? Your faithful servant evermore?”</p><p>“Don’t be ridiculous.” Jon sighs, kneading his forehead with his fingertips, trying to stave off the headache creeping up on him. “You’re being dramatic. Look…” He hesitates, taking a step towards the bed. “I’m sorry it’s me, okay? I don’t want this any more than you do, but when you consider the alternative–”</p><p>“Oh I have, believe me. When you pulled your little stunt there I did wonder for a moment.” Theon laughs humorlessly. “If it wouldn’t be the easier choice to be done with it than be a bastard’s fucking thrall for life.”</p><p>“It’s not going to be like that.” </p><p>“Of course. Lie to me, then.” Theon grins, a bitter grimace. “Tell me it won’t feel good to get one over me. Tell me you won’t enjoy it when I have to come to you for my allowance, or if I want to leave this fucking shithole for a while.”</p><p>“That’s not why I did it,” Jon says. He hasn’t thought of that yet, but Theon’s right. It’ll be Jon  being in charge of Theon’s finances from now on, too. </p><p>“Sure, you only did it out of the goodness of your heart. Because we’ve always been such good friends and you <em> love </em>me way too much to go on without me, right?”</p><p>“Well, no,” Jon says slowly. That’d be a shameless lie. “I didn’t do it for you.” That’s a lie too, albeit a smaller one. </p><p>“Aye, I know. Because it’s <em> right.</em>” Theon rolls his eyes. “At least you’re not pretending to care for me, I’ll give you that.”</p><p>Jon doesn’t have an answer to that. Of course he cares, in the way that Theon is a human being whose worst crime so far has been that he’s a right prick, and that’s hardly deserving a death sentence. And there’s still Robb, whom Jon cares for a lot, whom Jon loves. Theon is Robb’s best friend. It’s not that hard an equation. He doesn’t voice any of this though, knowing too well there’s nothing he can say that Theon won’t take the wrong way in his current state. So Jon only nods at the door, giving Theon an expectant look. And to his eternal surprise Theon doesn’t protest, simply getting to his feet with an exaggerated sigh. </p><p>“I’ll see you in the hall tonight?” Jon asks, careful not to make it sound like the order it truly is. </p><p>“Of course, my lord,” Theon says with a mocking bow in Jon’s direction. “Whatever my lord bastard wants.” And with that the door falls into its lock and Jon is alone. </p><p>He contemplates the mess Theon has made of his bed for a moment. He’ll regret this come nighttime, but right now Jon doesn’t have the energy to fix it. Instead he turns to the chest at the foot of his bed, kneeling before it. All his belongings are in here, together with his clothes. It isn’t much, despite Father being as generous with Jon as with any of his children when it comes to necessities. But Jon doesn’t have the extra coin to spend on fancy attire as his half siblings do, nor does he have the need for it. Most of Jon’s clothes are black, simple, unadorned. No sigils, no direwolves. None of it feels like it really belongs to him. </p><p>Jon reaches between his smallclothes, fumbling around until he can feel the small satchel beneath his fingers. He pulls it out, weighing it in his hand. In this he keeps his personal things, the stuff he feels is his, not Jon Snow the bastard’s. He doesn’t open it, picturing the contents in his mind. </p><p>There’s the worn little blanket Jon has had since he can remember, the one he arrived in Winterfell in, according to Maester Luwin. It’s the only tie Jon has to his mother, impossible to part with. There’s a very badly done handkerchief Arya had made for Jon once. Jon smiles at the thought. Arya hates all needlework with a passion, and yet she’d made it for him, unable to see Jon being left out when Sansa had embroidered several for her real brothers. There’s that rock Jon has picked up as a child, formed vaguely like a wolf; a small wooden sword he had started to learn with under the watchful eye of Ser Rodrik; and finally a small book with stories about the Night’s Watch and the wonders hiding beyond the Wall. </p><p>And that’s it. Nothing of it is fit to be used as a token in the ceremony, and Jon drives a hand through his hair with a sigh. And stops mid-move. Maybe… maybe he could… No. Jon shakes his head, appalled with himself. This would be too intimate a symbol, something he would only do for someone he loves. For a horrible moment Jon can’t help picturing Theon’s reaction when presented with a lock of hair. Pissing himself with laughter, probably. Jon’s hair is one of Theon’s favourite topics to make fun of Jon about. </p><p>A scratch at the door saves Jon from following the thought further and he quickly gets to his feet, opening the door for Ghost. The direwolf slinks inside, as quiet as always, his bright red eyes trained on Jon adoringly. Jon bends to ruffle the wolf’s ears. “You don’t happen to have an idea, do you,” he mutters, smiling when Ghost licks his hand as an answer. And then, out of the blue, Jon is struck by a thought. It’s not ideal, not by far, but it’s better than anything else Jon can come up with at such short notice, and excitedly he opens the satchel, reaching in. And there, at the bottom, he finds what he’s looking for.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm still reeling from how this little idea has taken on a life of its own. Never did such a thing before where I only have a vague idea where it's going. The next few events I do know, but in the long run there are still so many possibilities... Your thoughts on this would be greatly appreciated!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Good news, I figured out most of the plot, yay! *fanfares*</p><p>A huuuge thank you to @Attaining, who really helped me clear my head. Talking to you is a delight!</p><p>The token wasn't my idea, guys, so another massive thanks to @vocal_fries for that genius idea! </p><p>Alright, pledge time!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Of course Theon isn’t there when Jon enters the Great Hall in the evening, after having received Father’s summons. The family is assembled at the High Table, while most of the more important household members, save for the maester, are occupying the lower tables to both sides of the hall. The guard is assembled, too, idle chatter filling the room until Jon comes in. All eyes are suddenly on him and Jon swallows, nerves threatening to get the better of him. Only when he sees Arya waving at him impatiently, Jon finally goes on. He comes to stand in front of his father, bowing curtly. </p><p>“You look unwell, boy. You haven’t changed your mind?” </p><p>Jon shakes his head, finding it surprisingly hard to look upon Father’s face. What is he thinking? That Jon would say, aye, he’s reconsidered, please go ahead with the execution after all? </p><p> “Do you want to take the pledge in the godswood?” Father asks gently. </p><p>Jon already wants to say yes, of course he would want to make such an important promise in front of the Old Gods. But something holds him back. “I think after all that went down today, it would be cruel to make Theon take the pledge in the face of gods that aren’t his,” he says slowly.   </p><p>“The hall, then. If he comes.” </p><p>Jon can feel Father’s piercing gaze on him, can sense his confusion. It must seem strange to him, all Jon is doing for someone he doesn’t love, someone who isn’t family. It’s strange to Jon, too, and for just a tiny moment he wishes he could take it back, resume his life as it was… Theon<em> is </em> family though, in a way. He certainly is to Robb. Robb loves Theon like a brother. </p><p>“He’ll come,” Jon says, hoping he sounds more convinced than he actually is. He doesn’t think Theon really wants to die rather than take the pledge, but who knows what wild plans he’s been fabricating in his mind all day? If he doesn’t show up… “He’ll come,” he says once more, voice firm. </p><p>“Well, it seems you’re right,” Father says with a sigh, gaze turning to something behind Jon’s back. </p><p>Jon swivels around, a surge of relief nearly knocking him off his feet when he sees Theon coming down the hall, head held high, back straight as an arrow. He’s dressed all in black, the absence of Greyjoy adornings on his clothes somewhat unsettling. Behind him the maester closes the door, nodding at Jon with a worried expression on his lined face. So that’s where Theon has been, Jon thinks absently. Of course, someone would have to explain to him what the pledge entails. </p><p>Theon comes to stand beside Jon in front of Lord Stark, barely giving him a nod before he turns to Jon with a ridiculous low bow. His face is pale, tense, jaw set, lips pressed together into a tight, white line. His nostrils are flaring, eyes glittering with determination. He’s trying to hold it together so badly… it almost makes Jon forget he dislikes him, a hint of admiration creeping up in him. Coming here tonight… it’s brave. Maybe even more brave than walking to his execution. </p><p>Father gets to his feet, waiting for the maester to join him at the table. His scrutinizing gaze flits between Jon and Theon as he addresses them. </p><p>“Jon Snow, natural born son of Eddard Stark, will you pledge to be guardian to this man? Will you pledge to mind his wellbeing to your best ability, will you pledge to give him board and lodge and safety until one of you is laid to rest?”</p><p>“I will.” At least Father doesn’t hold up with bothersome speeches. </p><p>“And will you pledge not to abuse your guardianship in a way that might bring your charge dishonour? Will you pledge to treat your superiority sensitively, as befitting of your charge’s status?”</p><p>“I will.”</p><p>Father takes a deep breath. “Will you pledge to take full responsibility for any crime this man might commit? Will you take on any punishment dealt to him for his acts?”</p><p>Jon closes his eyes for a brief moment. He can’t think of this. He <em> mustn’t </em> think of this, of the meaning behind the words. When he looks up, Father’s face is tense. Jon holds his gaze, not looking away this time. </p><p>“I will.”</p><p>Father nods, almost unnoticeable, before he turns to Theon. “Theon Greyjoy, son of Balon Greyjoy, will you pledge to keep your guardian’s matters above yours at all times? Will you pledge to keep your guardian’s house’s matters above your house’s at all times?”</p><p>Theon’s voice doesn’t sound like his own when he answers. “I will.”</p><p>“And will you pledge to obey his command in every regard, to seek his permission for every choice you might take in life?”</p><p>“I will.”</p><p>“Will you pledge to defend him against all enemies, and give your life for his if need be?”</p><p>Silence follows, and after a while Jon can’t help it; he gazes over at Theon – staring straight ahead, a muscle twitching in his jaw.</p><p>“I will,” he finally says, hardly more than a hoarse whisper. </p><p>It is enough though, and Father nods again. “Kneel then,” he says to Theon. “And speak the words.” </p><p>“He doesn’t have to–” </p><p>“Oh, please,” Theon interrupts Jon, snorting humorlessly. “As if that matters now.” And with that he goes down on one knee before Jon, head bowing low. “I accept Lakh Wal Lach. I accept you – Jon Snow – as my guardian. May any man’s hand strike me down, should I ever raise my hand against you, disobey you or forfeit my pledge.” </p><p>Jon stares at him, at his exposed neck, open and vulnerable. Theon has accepted the pledge. There is no turning back, not ever. It can only end when one of them dies. The sudden weight of it comes as a surprise, an almost physical feeling, threatening to take Jon’s breath away. He’s responsible for another man, has power over him he never wanted to have over anyone, least of all someone like Theon. A part of Jon’s mind notices he’s trembling, blood rushing loudly through his body with an almost deafening sound; he’s hardly able to hear the maester calling his name. </p><p>“Jon. <em> Jon. </em> The token, Jon. Give it to Theon now.” </p><p>Jon blinks, a strange haze clouding his vision. His hand closes around the token he’s picked but he can’t seem to move it, can’t seem to do anything besides standing there helplessly, frozen to the spot. </p><p>“Fucking today, will you?” </p><p>Theon’s hissed whisper penetrates the haze, and without looking at him Jon reaches out, letting the tiny thing glide into Theon’s palm. “With this I accept you as my charge, Theon Greyjoy,” he says, horrified at how alien his voice sounds even to his own ears. “May you keep this as a symbol of our… our bonding.” </p><p>Theon’s fingers briefly close around the token before he looks at it. Jon holds his breath as he awaits Theon’s reaction. It’s a canine, one of Ghost’s baby teeth that had broken off when he was just a small pup of a few weeks. Theon doesn’t say anything, and suddenly Jon violently regrets his choice. A <em> direwolf </em> tooth, of all things. The Stark sigil is a direwolf, and maybe Theon will perceive this as Jon mocking him, throwing everything that’s happened in his face… </p><p>In the end Theon doesn’t say anything as he gets to his feet, but when he looks at him Jon flinches back involuntarily. Theon’s eyes, normally a pale blue, are dark as he stares down on Jon, a strange fire burning in them that could be anger as much as pain. For a long moment there’s silence, the whole assembly isn’t even breathing, seeming to wait for something to happen. </p><p>“Are they married now?” Rickon asks from his seat at the table, and the tension at once dissolves in loud guffaws and laughter ringing through the hall. Jon isn’t laughing, he keeps staring at Theon like a rabbit at a snake preparing to strike, not having the slightest idea how to proceed. It’s Theon who looks away first. </p><p>“I need the fucking king of all drinks,” he mutters. “If I have your permission, <em> my lord?</em>”</p><p>Jon knows he shouldn’t let Theon speak to him like that, not in front of the men, but all he’s capable of in the moment is a curt nod. It’s apparently enough for Theon; he vanishes out of Jon’s sight immediately. Jon exhales slowly, hand finding the tabletop in an effort to steady himself.</p><p>He needs a big fucking drink as well.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Soooo I asked lovely @callmejude because this is her fic, but since she can't decide (worrying about me feeling pressured, the sweet bean ❤️), I'm turning to you all: </p><p>Would you like me to stick to a schedule, like, post on Fridays? Or would you prefer I post a chapter whenever I have one ready?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Morning/evening! </p><p>Thank you all for your opinions on the posting schedule question. Can I say how lovely it is that the overall consensus is, don't pressure the writer? 😬 But! Many of you have also expressed a liking for schedules, so I'm going to stay with Fridays. Of course I can't promise that I'll post every Friday for the next half year or so, but I'll give my best. I also reserve the right of sneaking an additional chapter in in between when I have enough material :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In the end Jon finds himself at one of the lower tables, clutching his almost empty tankard. There’s no company present that isn’t family, so he could probably get away with quietly sitting down beside Arya. Normally Lady Stark just tends to ignore him at mealtimes as long as he doesn’t draw any attention to himself. Not that Jon has ever been much of an attention-seeker; he prefers to stay unseen in the shadows, and usually he’s pretty good at it. But today he finds himself the subject of too many curious eyes, so the High Table isn’t really an option. Jon sighs, tipping back the rest of his drink. He’ll talk to Arya later, apologize and explain. </p><p>Theon doesn’t seem to have a problem with all the attention he’s getting, of course not. Jon watches him wander through the hall, from man to man, accepting drinks poured for him and laughing with the men that lead him to his execution just this morning, as if nothing ever happened. They do seem relieved, Jon thinks, watching Jory clapping Theon’s back so hard he spills some of his ale. Has it really been only today? It already starts to feel like a week, this long day, and suddenly Jon is tired, more tired than he ever remembers being. His eyes threaten to slip closed, and maybe it wouldn’t be too rude to excuse himself and go to bed… </p><p>And then, all of a sudden, Jon is startled into high alert – Father is leaving his seat at the High table, making his way through the hall. Jon sits up straight, holding his breath when Father approaches Theon. Time seems to trickle to a halt, and Jon sees the smile glide off Theon’s face, sees his fingers tighten around his tankard, sees how he pales beneath his liquor-reddened face. Father says something, he’s smiling in his usual, kind way, but the hairs in Jon’s neck prickle at the sight. Theon takes a tiny step back, throat working as he swallows again and again, and just like that Jon can’t bear it a moment longer. </p><p>“Theon,” he calls out, loud enough he’s being heard over the noise of the crowd. All eyes turn to Jon immediately, but he ignores them, gaze on Theon who looks at Jon too, eyes wide and startled. “I would like a word, if you–”</p><p>Jon hasn’t even finished his sentence when Theon is already saying something to Father, nodding his head and starting to walk towards Jon. There’s something awkward about his gait, but not in a drunk way. It seems more like he’s trying not to run. When he’s reached him, Jon nods at the empty space to his right, and after just a tiny moment of hesitation Theon slumps down, exhaling a long, shuddery breath that he tries to turn into a laugh. </p><p>“Having orders for me already, my lord and master? Do you need me to pour you a drink? Massage your weary shoulders?”</p><p>Jon doesn’t answer; he takes the jug of ale standing before him on the table, topping up Theon’s tankard before refilling his own. He takes a sip, leaning back until he’s resting against the wall. He can feel Theon’s gaze on him but, having no idea what to say, Jon keeps his mouth shut. </p><p>“Hmpf,” Theon makes before he drinks in long, noisy gulps. “Tell me one thing, Snow. Lord Snow? Whatever.” He chuckles drunkenly. “You didn’t actually wrestle that thing out of your beast’s mouth, aye?”</p><p>“Don’t be daft,” Jon mutters, eyes flitting to the canine Theon has placed on the table before him. “It’s a baby tooth, it came out all by itself.”</p><p>“Adorable.” Theon idly pokes at the canine, making it spin. “How the fuck am I supposed not to lose this, you moron? I mean, my lord moron,” he adds, voice dripping with sarcasm. “It’s really tiny.” </p><p>“I meant to ask Mikken to make some kind of setting for it. For a… for a necklace maybe.”</p><p>At that Theon snorts into his tankard, starting to cough when a slug of ale makes it down the wrong way. Jon watches him, repressing the urge to clap Theon’s back so hard his head would meet the tabletop. </p><p>“Drowned fuck, Snow,” Theon finally wheezes, wiping his watery eyes. “You can’t go saying things like that to a man drinking from his ale. Would be a shame, all those pretty pledges and dramatic antics being for nothing when I choke to death on my drink.” He dissolves in a fit of laughter again, almost bordering on the edge of hysterical. Finally he chuckles one last time, heaving a sigh. “You could also have it made into an earring,” Theon proposes when Jon doesn’t say anything. “Would make me look very dangerous and dashing, don’t you think?”</p><p>“An <em> earring?</em>” Jon turns to Theon, appalled at the thought. “Why would you want to wear – in your <em> ear?</em>”</p><p>“It’s what we do.” Theon grins, seeming to find Jon’s bewilderment highly amusing. “I recall my uncles piercing their ears with jewellery they acquired on their raids. I always thought I’d do it too, once I’m back and… and…” </p><p>Something like pain flashes over Theon’s face, a jolt going through him, and Jon quickly looks away when Theon’s hand comes up to angrily wipe at his eyes. He’s never seen Theon cry over anything, not even when he first came to Winterfell. Jon had admired his strength back then, sure he would’ve cried his eyes out if he’d been the one taken from his family to go live with strange people in a strange place. But not Theon. Theon never shed as much as a single tear, not that Jon knows of, in any case. Always laughing and smirking and joking, not taking anything serious. Jon deliberately looks at his tankard. Theon isn’t laughing now. </p><p>“You can have an earring if you want,” Jon says quietly. “I don’t mind either way.”</p><p>“Don’t be ridiculous, Snow.” Theon sounds strained, but he’s chuckling again. “A necklace it is. Go ahead, collar me with the Stark sigil. Make it obvious who I belong to.”</p><p>“Not the Starks,” Jon retorts, immediately wishing he wouldn’t have said it. </p><p>“Aye, you’re not a Stark. And never will be, now that you’ve affiliated yourself to a traitor’s worthless son. How does that feel, eh, Snow? To know that you’ve killed that possibility?”</p><p>“Wasn’t ever much of one.” Jon knows his cheeks are burning, betraying the stinging in his chest. </p><p>“No, probably not.” Theon drinks, tipping his head back to empty his tankard before filling it anew. “S’nothing you could ever have done to be worth of it, becoming a Stark. No matter how righteous you pretend to be. Bastard for life.” Theon is starting to slur his words, drinking more, wiping his mouth and elbowing Jon’s shoulder in the process. “A worthless bastard is what you are, always have been. And then you go and make me a bastard’s thrall, you son of a bitch…” Theon barks a short, harsh laugh. “What a pair we make, aye? The Stark bastard and the Greyjoy heir, forsaken by his own father.”</p><p>Jon keeps quiet, trying not to let Theon’s words get to him. He’s drunk, he’s in pain… he’s right. Everything he says is true. </p><p>“Can’t believe I ever thought I’d be a part of this lot…” Theon gesticulates wildly, at the family, at the hall, at Father. He’s watching them, Jon notices, brows pulled into a frown. Theon cackles, inhales sharply. “To think I ever even <em> considered </em> – why is he looking at me like that, Snow? Hasn’t it been enough–” He drinks, grabs the jug only to find it empty. “Belonging to the Starks… what a ridiculous, <em> stupid </em> dream…”</p><p>Theon is falling apart, Jon realizes with a sudden feeling of dread. It’s been too much, all of it. </p><p>“<em>I can’t look at him</em>,” Theon groans, hands gripping the table so hard his knuckles turn white. “Out… I need to get out…” He turns to Jon, eyes wild and desperate. “May I, my lord bastard? Can I <em> please </em> fuck off?”</p><p>“You’re drunk–” Jon starts, breaking off when Theon groans. “Alright, fine. I’ll go with you.”</p><p>For a moment Theon looks as if he’s about to protest, but then he just shrugs, getting up on unsteady feet. Jon quickly reaches out, catching Theon just in time before he stumbles. He’s leaning on Jon with all his weight, nearly making him fall over. </p><p>“Hah,” Theon says, starting to laugh once again. “Bet you didn’t think of <em> that</em>… gotta babysit my drunk ass, as my <em> guardian</em>…” Another laugh, sounding strangely like a bitten-off sob. “You’re stuck with me now, Snow, for the rest of our pathetic, miserable lives.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Questions? Thoughts? </p><p>And now for something completely different: I don't know if any of you know Fandom for Australia? It's something like Fandom Trumps Hate, creators offer their work in an auction and you can bid on them to get a fic/art for yourself. The price is then paid to charities in Australia to help with the aftermath of the horrible fires. And well, in a surge of complete madness I signed up for that 🙈🙈🙈 I can't post a link here but I will on my tumblr (owlsinathens). The bidding starts on Sunday and I just wanted to get word out in case anyone would like to have a story by me, however unlikely that is.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Good morning/evening/etc! </p><p>I'm a bit nervous about this – I'm trying really hard not to get cracky with this story (it's what I normally do) but I'm not entirely sure I'm managing. Hope you still enjoy the chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They don’t talk on their way to town, though Theon couldn’t be exactly called quiet. He’s singing to himself, songs Jon has never heard before, songs that make his ears go red and his stomach churn. They’re all about the same things: pillaging villages and plundering the shore and taking women and gutting their men like fish. Theon doesn’t seem to remember the exact words, mumbling or humming his way through certain parts before aggressively repeating those he still knows at the top of his voice. </p><p>When they finally reach Wintertown Jon starts toward the inn, but when he looks over his shoulder he realizes Theon isn’t behind him anymore. Mumbling a quiet curse Jon turns his horse around. He should’ve known. He catches up just in time to see Theon almost falling off his mount, not even bothering with tying it to the post outside of Wintertown’s brothel before stumbling through the door and vanishing inside.</p><p>Jon bites his lip to keep from cursing some more as he ties both horses securely to the post. He doesn’t want to go in there, he really, really doesn’t. But what if Theon doesn’t behave himself? What if he gets into trouble with another client over a whore? What if he doesn’t have any coin on him? It’s not as if he planned to come here tonight, maybe he’s unprepared. Jon takes a deep breath, steeling himself – and marches through the door. </p><p>Inside it’s astonishingly light, lots of candles and lamps brightening the place. Probably to highlight the goods on display, Jon reckons, keeping his eyes down as he passes a couple of scantily dressed women. They giggle and coo at him, one even reaches out to get ahold of his cloak, but Jon avoids her with a little sidestep, making his way straight to a much older woman sitting behind a table. </p><p>“‘Ello, luv,” she says, giving him a wide, gap-toothed smile. “Wha’ can we do for you today?”</p><p>“The man who just came in…”</p><p>“Lord Greyjoy? Why you askin’?” She squints at Jon, still smiling but her gaze has turned shrewd.</p><p>“You wouldn’t know where he went?” Jon tries to keep himself from squirming in embarrassment. This is a nightmare. </p><p>“Up with Ros, I reckon.” She shrugs. “Why, you meanin’ to join ‘em?”</p><p>“Gods, no,” Jon says, horrified at the mere idea of such a thing. “I’m just here to… have an eye on him?”</p><p>“Hah, gotcha,” the woman cackles, holding out her hand. “That’ll be ten pennies, then, luv. And if you touch the girl it’ll be ten more, aye?”</p><p>“What… I didn’t mean it like that!” Jon starts to feel hot in the overheated room. “I meant, waiting outside the door for him to – to finish.”</p><p>“Ten pennies or you wait outside <em> this </em>door,” the woman insists, and with a sigh Jon pulls out his purse, counting out four halfgroats and two pennies into her hand. “Ta,” she says, winking at him in a way that makes Jon’s face heat up. “Ros’ room is upstairs, to the right, third door.”</p><p>Jon nods his thanks and goes to climb the footworn wooden stairs to the upper level. He turns right, counting the doors until he comes to the third. He’ll just wait outside, Theon will be done and come out sooner or later. Jon leans against the wall, trying not to listen to the unmistakable sounds coming from the rooms lining the corridor. It’s not that he doesn’t know what’s happening there – it just isn’t for him. </p><p>Fortunately it doesn’t take long until the door opens. Jon turns to face it, eager to give Theon an earful. Only it isn’t Theon coming out, and Jon takes a startled step back when a woman’s head appears in the gap between door and frame. It’s a very pretty head, a beautiful face framed with luscious red curls, relief washing over it upon seeing Jon. </p><p>“Oh, thank the gods,” she exclaims, opening the door wider. “I’m not sure what to do with him. Stumbles inside, drunk as a goat, and falls asleep the moment he’s done!”</p><p>A firm hand grabs Jon’s wrist and he’s pulled inside, looking around with wide eyes. He’s never been in a whore’s chamber before, but to his surprise it doesn’t look anything like he’s expected, a lot more… normal. There’s a table and a chair, a wash basin in one corner, and there’s a bed. In which Theon is laying on his stomach, face buried in the furs. </p><p>“He’s not usually like this,” the woman who must be Ros mutters, hands firmly placed on her lavish hips, clad in nothing but what looks to be a piece of linen. Jon gives her a quick glance before he deliberately looks away again, his face burning. She shakes her head in indignation. “I don’t mean to be rude, m’lord…”</p><p>“Jon Snow,” Jon quickly tells her, to avoid any more m’lords. “I’m…”</p><p>“I know who you are. Though I don’t know why I haven’t seen you before.” She smiles teasingly. “Your brother’s been brought to see me by this one,” she nods at Theon, “the moment he was old enough to know what goes where.”</p><p>Jon makes a face, not sure what to say to that. Of course he knows that. Robb had even invited him to come along occasionally. And Jon had refused, every single time until Robb had stopped asking. It’s been an endless source for Theon to make his japes, Jon’s refusal to visit whores, or take it up with willing chambermaids. </p><p>“I’m not – I don’t want–” Jon sighs, deciding to keep his mouth shut. It would be rude, telling a whore that he doesn’t want anything to do with her, or any woman. It would be a lie. Of course he wants, but there is many a good reason not to go down that path. Jon shifts, anxious to conceal the way a certain part of him is starting to react to her presence. “Can’t,” he finishes lamely. </p><p>“Shame,” she says, sounding like she actually means it. “You’re a pretty one, Jon Snow.”</p><p>The heat in his face worsening, Jon concentrates his gaze on the floor. That’s not something he hears a lot, not in a castle that contains Robb. And Theon, who could certainly be called handsome. But Jon, with his dark eyes and dark hair and long face… Sure, the serving girls had started to make eyes at him once he’d been growing into his limbs and stopped sounding ridiculous whenever he opened his mouth, but that hadn’t lasted long. Sometimes Jon worries he’s offended them with his blatant disinterest. </p><p>“Beg your pardon, Jon Snow...” Ros finally says when Jon doesn’t answer. “I need him gone. I’m losing money when I’m not taking on more patrons.” She sighs, turning to Jon with an appealing smile. “If only someone were to help me and take him back to Winterfell...”   </p><p>In the end they bring Theon back to some semblance of consciousness with the water in Ros’ wash bowl. He’s still mostly out of it, mumbling to himself, head lolling from side to side, but at least he’s able to use his feet just enough for Jon to drag him outside. After a few futile attempts to get Theon stably onto his horse, and lacking any rope to simply tie Theon to the saddle, Jon resigns himself to the only option left. </p><p>He helps Theon onto his own horse, hurriedly mounting it himself before the idiot can fall off again. It’s hard, arranging Theon in a way so Jon can ride, especially while having to lead Theon’s horse along, but in the end he figures it out. Theon is sitting before Jon, slumped back against him, while Jon is reaching around him to hold onto the reins. It’s not the most comfortable riding position, especially with Theon being slack as a dead fish, head slumped against Jon’s shoulder where he eventually starts snoring. He reeks of ale and cold sweat and other things Jon really doesn’t want to think about, but at least he’s not talking. </p><p>When they approach the gate a man’s silhouette melts out of the shadows. “Who’s there? Name yourself!”</p><p>“Jon Snow,” Jon says wearily, certain he’s never been so tired before in his life. “Theon is with me.”</p><p>“Oh, right.” The guard, a man named Hallis, laughs. “Got yourself a right burden there, eh? Why’s he not saying anything? Killed him yet?”</p><p>“He’s drunk.”</p><p>“Can’t blame the boy,” another voice Jon recognizes as Tomard’s comes out of the dark. “After what happened today… I’d need to forget about such a day too.”</p><p>Jon sighs, nodding at the men as they open the gate to let them through. Of course they’re right, he knows they are. But he still can’t help feeling resentful all the same. He’s had a hard day, too. His life has changed, too. And yet no one would see <em> Jon </em> getting completely wasted in the brothel, would they? Feeling utterly miserable, Jon drags Theon off the horse, more or less carrying him to his new chambers, where a freshly made bed is waiting for him. It looks cozy and comfortable, and Jon suddenly remembers his own bed, the mess Theon made of it. </p><p>“Bed,” Theon mumbles incoherently, and Jon has had enough. </p><p>With the last dreg of energy he can spare, Jon somehow maneuvers Theon into his own chamber where he slumps into Jon’s unmade bed and immediately starts snoring again. Jon gives him a last, exhausted glare, hoping he won’t vomit on his furs, before he trudges over to Theon’s room, undressing and crawling between the crisp sheets and soft furs. After a day like this he’ll be out cold in seconds. </p><p>And yet… when the sun rises, Jon is still awake.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Can't believe I wrote five chapters about a single day. I'm almost as bad as Diana Gabaldon 🙈</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Good morning on a rainy Friday!<br/>Thank you all for your lovely comments and encouragement ❤️</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next few days Theon is making himself very scarce. It’s eerie, not stumbling across him everywhere Jon goes, as he’s used to. On a typical day he’d see him at breakfast, at training, in the stables, in the Hall, at the pools – in short, he used to be everywhere Jon didn’t want him to be. Now he’s nowhere, as if he’s disappearing just a moment before Jon can lay eyes on him. And yet, despite Theon’s vanishing powers, Jon always seems to know exactly where he’s at, as if he’s tuned in to whatever Theon does. It’s a disconcerting feeling. Jon doesn’t like it. </p><p>The morning after he’d woken early, had carefully slinked back into his own room only to find Theon already gone and Ghost in a state of silent disapproval. Jon had obtained fresh sheets, removing all evidence of the night before, and resumed his usual day. Nothing has changed. He repeats the words over and over in his head. Nothing has changed. Neither of them are forced to spend time with each other. <em> Nothing has changed. </em>So why the restlessness, why the gnawing feeling in his stomach that doesn’t let Jon sleep, that plagues him when he doesn’t see Theon at breakfast for the third day in a row? </p><p>“Beg your pardon, er..?”</p><p>Jon looks up from his still full plate, at one of the maids looming over him with a curious look in her eye.</p><p>“Your Lord Father is askin’ you to join him in his solar, if you please.” She does a funny little motion, like an aborted curtsy, before she leaves again, shaking her head as she goes. </p><p>Jon looks after her for a moment before he gets to his feet with a sigh. She’s new, barely fourteen, coming from one of the surrounding villages. Jon doesn’t blame her for her uneasiness. He knows it’s hard for them, figuring out how to address him, how to treat him. He’s not a Stark, and yet he’s not one of them either. He’s a lord’s son, whatever good that did him so far. Mostly they tend to avoid addressing him at all. Jon knocks on his father’s door, waiting for the permission to enter before he steps inside. </p><p>“Jon, thank you for coming.” Father finishes writing a sentence before he carefully lays his quill aside. “Please, sit down. How are you faring?”</p><p>Jon sits opposite Father’s desk, fiddling with his hands. It always makes him nervous, being in here. Not that he’s been here often, not nearly as often as Arya. Or Theon. “I’m fine,” he finally says. “Nothing has changed.”</p><p>“Hmm…” Father strokes his beard thoughtfully. “Where is Theon? I haven’t seen him around today.”</p><p>“Smithy,” Jon answers without thinking, then pauses, astonished. “At least I think that’s where he is.”</p><p>“So it’s already happening.” Father smiles slightly at Jon’s questioning look. “You made a promise. You took responsibility for another human being. It changes everything, Jon. You’re aware of him, you worry about him.”</p><p>Jon tries to gather his thoughts, tries to find a way to tell Father he’s wrong, he’s not worrying about Theon – and finds he can’t. “Will it go away again?” he asks, glancing up. “When everything has settled, has become normalcy. Will it go away?”</p><p>Father studies Jon with something like wistfulness. “No,” he says at length. “It will never go away.” He sighs, leaning back in his chair and studying Jon thoughtfully. “I made such a promise once. Not an oath, not a law, just a promise to care for someone. It never goes away.”</p><p>Father’s grey eyes are somber, boring into Jon’s, and then he understands. “My mother,” Jon says quietly. “You promised her to look out for me. Father, when–”</p><p>“Not yet, son. I am sorry, but the time has not yet come.” </p><p>Father says it firmly, conclusively, and Jon knows there’s no point in probing further. “Is that all you wanted from me, my lord?” he asks, praying the disappointment isn’t audible in his voice. </p><p>“Don’t, Jon. It’s for your own good.” Father squares his shoulders, sitting upright. “The reason I wanted to speak to you is of a more mundane matter. Financial matter, to be exact.”</p><p>Oh. Of course, that was to be expected. Jon had wondered how this could work, paying Theon his allowance from his own. It isn’t that much, rightfully so. It’s not as if Jon needs much beside the things he’s provided with anyway. But Theon is used to different standards, he loves his finery, his expensive wine and fancy soap – all the things that make him feel oh so special. Jon sighs, trying to rein in the contempt threatening to rise to the surface. It’s not his place to judge another man for his fancies, not even when this man is his charge. Not even when this man is Theon. But Jon also doesn’t think it fair to give all his money to Theon, just for some trite enjoyments.</p><p>“Your allowance at the moment is fifty stags at the beginning of the new moon,” Father says, waiting for Jon to nod before he continues. “And Theon received…” Father clears his throat. “...one hundred and fifty stags.”</p><p>Jon’s mouth falls open before he can think of controlling his expression. A hundred and fifty silver stags. That is an enormous sum, more than even Robb gets, Jon is sure. With a somewhat strenuous effort Jon closes his mouth. This is unbelievable. </p><p>Father isn’t looking at Jon, gaze firmly on the paper before him. “As long as you are part of my household I will from now on allow you two hundred stags a moon. It is your decision how much you want to pass on to your charge. Room and board I will provide for Theon – and you – just like before, but any additional expenses will have to come from your allowance. Do you understand?”</p><p>“I understand,” Jon echoes mindlessly, a strange ringing in his ears. Two hundred silver stags. The amount is sheer unfathomable.  </p><p>“Very well.” Father exhales carefully. “A word of warning, Jon. Theon tends to… he sometimes is too generous with his money, and it has happened that he asked for an advance. I leave it up to you how to deal with that when the situation arises, but… mayhaps it would be wise not to indulge him too much. He needs to learn how to exercise moderation.”</p><p>How on <em> earth </em> could someone spend <em> one hundred and fifty </em> stags and still need more? Jon vaguely nods, making to get up. He needs some air. But Father isn’t done yet, raising his hand. Jon sinks back again. </p><p>“There’s something else that needs to be discussed.” Father shifts in his seat. “So far Theon’s duties have mostly consisted of assisting me in my businesses. He came along on visits to other houses, he–” Father breaks off, taking a deep breath. </p><p>Jon slowly shakes his head. He knows what Father means, knows how the sentence continues. “No more,” he says as firmly as he possibly can. “I’m sorry, my lord, but I won’t force him to be around you. Not after what happened.”</p><p>“Jon.” Father sounds pained, and slightly impatient. “It’s not as if I had a choice in the matter. Do you think it brought me joy? Theon has grown up among my own sons, I always tried to do right by him. I didn’t want any of this to happen.”</p><p>“And yet you didn’t exactly try to find a different solution, did you? You even hastened the procedure because you knew Robb would come back as fast as lightning to save his best friend, you–” Jon bites his lip, realizing how very close he is to insubordination to his lord and father. “You didn’t extend the same concerns to any of your… your other children.”</p><p>“Of course I didn’t want Robb to take on such a burden.” Father is still calm, but there’s a hint of cold steel beneath the surface. “I couldn’t let my oldest son and heir take a pledge that would affect him all his life.” Father sighs, his face softens. “If I’d expected you to do such a foolish thing… there’s no love lost between you and Theon. How could I have known?”</p><p>“He’s innocent. It was the right thing to do.” Jon’s insides hurt, his stomach clenching painfully. Father should have known. If Father’d know Jon at all… he should have expected it. “It’s no use discussing this any further, Father. What’s done is done.” Jon gets up, straightening his shoulders. “You’re right, I don’t like Theon. But he’s mine to care for now, and I won’t have him attend the man who was about to take his head after raising him for over ten years.”</p><p>The silence following Jon’s words is heavy, Father’s gaze seeming to pierce Jon’s very soul. After what seems like an eternity, Father nods. </p><p>“As you wish. Though I would advise you to think about it, Jon. Give Theon something to do. He doesn’t do well when he has leave to be idle.” Father stands too, placing both hands on his desk. “Go and see Vayon Poole for your allowance.”</p><p>“Thank you, my lord.” Jon bows curtly before turning to leave. He walks down the corridor, head held high, until he comes to an alcove. Jon exhales, all tension leaving him in a rush. He sinks against the stones of the wall, balling his fists as he tries to get himself together. He’s never been at odds with Father like this, not once. And all because of Theon, all because… Jon grits his teeth, forcing himself to focus. It isn’t Theon’s fault. <em> None of this is Theon’s fault. </em> </p><p>Finally Jon’s breathing returns to somewhat like normal. He needs to go and see Vayon Poole, he needs to finally see Arya and talk to her about all of this… and he needs to visit the godswood. If there’s ever been a time for prayer, it is now. And yet, when Jon comes out into the courtyard, his feet don’t take him toward the godswood, nor the steward’s rooms, nor the stables where he can hear Arya and Bran quarreling about something. With a feeling of utter defeat Jon walks into the smithy. </p><p>“If you’re looking for the lad you’re too late,” Mikken says upon Jon’s entry. He’s working on a horse’s hoof, chafing away at it with a sound that makes Jon’s teeth hurt. “He left not two minutes ago.”</p><p>“Of course,” Jon mutters, tiredly slumping onto an anvil. He should just give it up. Theon will need money sooner or later. They can discuss his daily activities then. But since he’s here already… “Do you think you could make some sort of necklace for… wait…” Jon fumbles in his pocket for the second baby canine he’s kept, finally producing it. “For something like this?”</p><p>Mikken sets his file down, reaching out and taking the tiny thing into his huge, calloused hand. “Shouldn’t be too hard. Leave it here with me and I’ll see to it once I’m done with today’s work.” He squints at Jon. “Is it for this one? Or the one the lad was constantly fumbling with while he sat here talking my ears off?”</p><p>“The latter,” Jon mutters, heat rising in his cheeks. “I don’t want him to lose it. Wouldn’t look too good for a… a charge, to lose the token.”</p><p>“Aye, you may be right there, boy.” Mikken gives Jon a none-too-gentle pat on his shoulder. “You did a good thing there, Jon. Don’t worry about the lad. He’ll come 'round.”</p><p>“We’ll see.” Jon isn’t feeling too optimistic, but Mikken’s words do him good, consoling in a way Jon hadn’t known he needed. “Thank you.” He’s already halfway out the door when Jon suddenly remembers something, turning back. “Mikken… have you ever heard about something called an earring?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I solemnly swear Theon shall appear in person again next chapter 🙈 And have dialogue (to Jon's chagrin)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Good morning! I'm pretty much quarantined at home, which is dumb and annoying, but at least there's time to write. I hope you're all doing alright, dears, in whichever part of the world you're at.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> Jon,  </em>
</p><p><em> please, what is going on? I’m hearing the wildest rumours here. Theon hasn’t answered any of my letters for over a week, and neither has Father – nor you. I beg you, please tell me what’s happening. I can’t come</em> <em> back yet, so I’m depending on you to let me know. I’m very much prepared to shower you in ravens until you do. </em></p><p>
  <em> Robb </em>
</p><p>
  <em> ************ </em>
</p><p>“You remember what to do?” </p><p>Arya rolls her eyes at Jon’s question, prompting him to smile apologetically. Of course he knows that she knows what to do, she’s cleverer than the rest of them combined. That, and it had been her idea. After nearly a week of only seeing glimpses of Theon’s back in his quest to avoid Jon, and finally Robb’s third worried letter, something has to be done. They can’t go on like that, <em> Jon </em> can’t go on like that. It’s driving him crazy, all those unsaid things hanging in the air, all those loose ends letting him lie awake at night. He’s dead tired. </p><p>“Alright, into position then,” Jon says, peering around the corner. “Wait for the signal and try to look inconspicuous.” </p><p>“I’m not sure I know what that means.” Arya frowns, worrying her bottom lip in much the same fashion as Jon is prone to do himself. </p><p>“And I don’t know it it’s even possible for you. Off you go!”</p><p>Jon gives her a pat on the back of her head, watching as she runs across the yard and assumes position in front of the stable door, leaning against it in an unfortunately very conspicuous way. Still, Theon usually is self-absorbed enough not to notice anything beyond his own woes, so they might get away with it. Now all they can do is wait. On a normal day Theon tends to come here at least once, be it to harass the stable boys into getting a horse ready for him, dragging one of the serving wenches into the hay or, lately, hiding from Jon. </p><p>Arya has started to whistle to herself, slightly off-key, her eyes scanning the galleries above Jon’s head. He knows she is looking for the signal to tell them Theon has left his chambers, where Jon has positioned Bran for the purpose. This is a joint effort, ridiculous but necessary, if Jon ever wants to sleep again. Finally, after what he feels have been hours, an owl’s hoot sounds from somewhere above Jon’s head. He checks on Arya, who has started bolt upright, excitement colouring her cheeks as she starts to hop up and down. Jon bites back a chuckle while trying to catch her attention. Finally she looks his way and sees his frantic waving, and immediately she stops fidgeting and leans against the stable wall again. </p><p>And then Jon hastily pulls his head back when Theon comes into view – strutting directly toward the stables, to Jon’s relief. It is quickly replaced by an irrational rush of anger, anger at Theon’s impertinent swagger and the way he looks as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. Jon can hear him as he casually greets Arya, her perfectly blasé answer, and then silence. Jon waits another moment before he leaves his hiding spot, slowly walking over to the stables. Arya isn’t there anymore, all going according to plan. Jon is almost at the door when another whistle rings through the air, and Jon takes a deep breath and enters the stables. </p><p>“Fuck… <em> fuck!!!” </em></p><p>Theon, predictably, is at the opposite end, furiously rattling at the back door Arya has locked from the outside. Jon watches him as he studies the little windows, as he gives it up, and finally turns around. It’s almost satisfying, the look of naked horror that washes over Theon’s face, but it’s gone again in a heartbeat, replaced by the ever-present aloof grin. Theon straightens, hooking his thumbs into his belt and taking a step toward Jon. </p><p>“Oh no,” he drawls. “Am I in trouble now, my lord bastard?”</p><p>“We need to talk,” Jon says curtly, ignoring Theon’s theatrical sigh.</p><p>“Is that an <em> order?</em>” Theon’s grin widens; he slumps down onto a bale of hay. “You caught me at last, master. I’m at your service.”</p><p>“Could you stop that?” The frustration is threatening to take over again, and Jon takes a deep breath to overcome the urge to simply smack the insolent smirk off Theon’s face. “Father talked to me–”</p><p>“Am I in trouble?” Theon asks again, but this time it sounds as if he’s worried in earnest, despite the unwavering smile. “I didn’t think I’d still…” He breaks off, shrugs. </p><p>“Actually, you don’t. Which is what I’ve been trying to tell you for <em> days.</em>” </p><p>The relief letting Theon’s shoulders sag is almost palpable. At the moment he doesn’t look like he’ll bolt, so Jon sinks to the floor, leaning against the wall of the last box. The inhabitant, a gentle chestnut gelding named Squirrel, promptly sticks his head over the wall, blowing warm air into Jon’s hair and sending it flying into his face. By the time he’s done cursing and stroking it back Theon’s expression has changed. The smirk is gone, his face guarded, nervous maybe. </p><p>“I’m here now,” he says. “What did you want to tell me?”</p><p>“You’re not to attend Father anymore.”</p><p>“Aye, I got that.” Theon rolls his eyes. “So what, I’ll just… hang out? Do nothing?” The grin is back, inducing a fresh wave of anger churning in Jon’s stomach. “Suits me well, thank you, <em>my lord.”</em></p><p>“I haven’t yet figured out what you’ll do.” Jon tries to keep his voice level, knowing he’s failed when Theon raises his eyebrows amusedly. “Until then I want you to stop running away from me.”</p><p>“Too bad. You’ll have to make that an <em>order</em>, otherwise–”</p><p>“I have your allowance,” Jon interrupts in another desperate attempt to find a way to communicate. “You’ll have to talk to me if you want–”</p><p>“Fine.” Theon kneads the bridge of his nose. “At the new moon you’ll put it in a bag and hand it to me. No talking required.”</p><p>Jon wants to scream, but instead he tries a different approach. “Why don’t you answer Robb’s letters?” </p><p>This seems to catch Theon cold, the smile gliding off his face. He swallows, hands clenching to fists in his lap. “That’s none of your business, Snow.”</p><p>“He’s worried.” Jon frowns when Theon chuckles harshly. “What? You don’t think so?”</p><p>“Aye, very worried. Theon, what’s going on? Theon, is it true?” Theon laughs humorlessly. “He can fuck off for all I care.”</p><p>“What–” </p><p>“He wasn’t here, was he?” Theon’s mouth twists into a bitter grimace; he wraps his arms around his torso as if he’s cold. “My so-called best friend, off to do god knows what while I’m locked up and led to my death, while you of all people come to my rescue, while I’m pledging lifelong servitude to a fucking <em> bastard</em>–”</p><p>“You’re being unfair,” Jon interrupts him, this time not even trying to conceal the anger in his voice. “If he’d known, if he could have, he’d been here, he’d have done the same.”</p><p>“You really think that?” Theon shakes his head. “Drowned God, you’re even stupider than I thought. He would have stormed and raged and tried to talk Lord Stark out of it, aye. And then he would have watched, would have cried like a bloody wench for a week, would have not spoken to his father for two more weeks, and then?” Theon’s shoulders are shaking. “And then he would’ve continued just like before.” </p><p>Jon doesn’t know what to say, how to defend Robb. He’s been sure, so sure Robb would’ve done the same as he did… even Father seemed to think so, why would Theon… Jon shakes his head, trying to get his thoughts in order when he notices Theon is watching him, a resigned look in his eyes. </p><p>“Face it, Snow,” he says almost softly. “You’re the only one who’d be dumb enough to save someone like me. Now live with the consequences. And leave <em> me </em> alone.”</p><p>“Can’t,” Jon says tiredly. “I wish I could. I know you don’t like me, and believe me, that’s mutual. But we’re in this together. We have to work something out that’s agreeable for both of us.”</p><p>“Alright.” Theon gets to his feet, looking down on Jon with a sneer. “Once again, Snow. I don’t care about what you want. I only want to be left alone, and if you really do care, like you pretend you do, you’ll let me be.”</p><p>“Theon–”</p><p>“Fuck off, <em> my lord,</em>” Theon says, walking past Jon and out of the stables. </p><p>Jon keeps sitting in the straw for a long time, a hollow feeling spreading in his chest. He’s failing. He’s taken on a responsibility he can’t carry. With a strangled groan he presses the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying to stop the useless tears in their tracks. He fails again.</p><p>“Jon?”</p><p>He doesn’t look up at Arya’s worried voice, doesn’t look up when she quietly sits down beside him. Her presence is warm, feels soothing, and after a while Jon lifts his head, taking a deep breath and wrapping his arm around his little sister’s shoulders. She leans her head against his shoulder and for a long time neither of them says a word. Finally Arya shifts, and Jon looks down on her with a slightly embarrassed smile. </p><p>“I could kill him for you,” she says earnestly. “Or at least seriously hurt him.”</p><p>Jon laughs, pulling her head close and placing a kiss on her hair. “Not yet,” he says. “But I might come back to that some day.”</p><p>
  <em> ************ </em>
</p><p>
  <strike> <em> Leave me alone </em> </strike>
</p><p>
  <strike> <em> It’s not as if you could  </em> </strike>
</p><p>
  <strike> <em> Would you have done what he did  </em> </strike>
</p><p>
  <em> Stop harassing your brother, Stark. All’s well. See you when you get back. </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Next time: Theon POV! There's a lot to unravel there.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello lovely people! </p><p>I'd like to apologize again... normally Theon POV is as easy as breathing, but somehow all my brain wants to do is stay mushy and whisper dire predictions at me. </p><p>Me: Oooh quarantine ok I'll write SO MUCH<br/>My brain: ... *hysterical laughter*</p><p>Anyway, here's Theon, firmly in denial anything ever happened, not letting himself think for a moment.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The way to the relative safety of his chambers has never felt this long, and only when he’s looking into the cold room, devoid of all personal belongings, does Theon remember the new arrangements. Cursing loudly – and startling one of the silly serving wenches so hard she drops a basket of laundry – Theon marches over into the other part of the castle. The bastard wing, one could call it, and now Theon’s as well. Bastard’s thrall. The new room is a tad larger than his old one, it’s warm and cosy enough and the maids still find it to stoke Theon’s fire, take away his dirty clothes and make his bed, all the little amenities he’d be loath to lose. </p><p>At least that hasn’t changed, he’s still the son of a lord… a traitor, a wannabe king, best father there ever was… Theon shakes his head angrily, refusing to let his mind go down that path. There’ll be a time when he can think about what his father did. There’ll be a time when Balon will have to answer for his actions, a time when Theon’s dirk will be at his throat and he can ask him <em> why </em> from face to face. For a moment Theon wonders, if there had been a raven, some sort of message for him, intercepted by the Starks. Something to warn him, something to explain, <em> anything. </em>Highly unlikely. </p><p>Theon angrily slams his door shut. In the morning he’d thrown most of his clothes on the bed, every single item adorned with the Greyjoy sigil, every kraken-shaped finery, everything reminding him of his family and what they have done. It’s still there, a heap of mostly black and gold. All of it makes him sick when he looks at it, the tunics, the heavy surcoat, even the scabbard he carries his sword in. All things not fit for him anymore, belonging to someone with a family, a name, an identity. Pity Snow hasn’t got a sigil of his own, Theon muses, laughing out humorlessly. A black snowflake on a black field. Not a direwolf, that’d be too similar to the Stark sigil. </p><p>What the fuck had even possessed Snow to give him a direwolf tooth as a token? Theon pats the pocket he’s keeping it in, scoffing at the strangely soothing feeling surging through him when he touches the tiny thing. It’s ridiculous, and the only explanation Theon can find is how bad it’d look if he’d lost it. Stupid of Snow, to give him something that can be lost so easily. But then Snow has never been the brightest, has he? Stupid enough to pledge his whole worthless life to someone he doesn’t care two straws for, someone who’d rather… No. That’s not true. There’s a quite large part of Theon that is grateful, for not having to die, for not having to feel the cold steel at his neck. </p><p>There’s another thought he’s not too keen on dwelling on. All his life, all the years he’s spent living among wolves, Theon can’t remember a time he hadn’t been afraid of the very thing, had done his utmost not to show his fear whenever holding the longsword out to Lord Stark, wondering if it would ever come for him… until it had. And it had only been Snow’s idiocy that had saved Theon. Yes, Theon is grateful. The simple fact makes him hate the bastard, hate the very sight of him. And so Theon hides, flees whenever he can sense him coming, too aware of what Snow is doing for the peace of his mind. </p><p>Until today it had worked beautifully, always being a pace or two ahead, not laying eyes on the bastard for a single time. And to Theon’s surprise Snow hadn’t made all too much of an effort, hasn’t invaded the privacy of Theon’s chambers, had left him alone… until today. To tell Theon he’s done yet another thing for him, extricating him from Lord Eddard’s continuous presence. Another reason to be grateful for, another reason to hate Snow. Good. Theon takes up the scabbard, weighing it in his hand. Hating Snow is good, necessary. With a flick of his wrist Theon throws the scabbard into the fireplace, watching the flames lick at it. Hating Snow keeps him sane. </p><p>One item after the other he sacrifices to the fire, the smoke making his eyes burn and water – it’s got to be the smoke. Theon Greyjoy, son and heir of Balon Greyjoy... no more. Theon Greyjoy, ward of Eddard Stark, raised among his sons, thinking of one day calling him father-in-law... no more. Everything he was, everything he could have been, was meant to be, going up in flames, disappearing forever with the smoke. Somewhere down the corridor a door – the door to Snow’s chamber – opens with a loud creak, sending shivers down Theon’s spine. He must hate Snow – because he’s all Theon has left. </p><p>***</p><p>In the morning, after another night of horrifying dreams, once more waking up in cold sweat and gripping his throat, Theon rides into town. He doesn’t ask for permission. What can Snow do? He’s not the type to tattle on Theon, is too careful to draw attention to the fact that he hasn’t any control whatsoever over his charge. A small rebellion, small but satisfying. It’s not as if Theon is planning on committing a crime, this is simply a matter of business. His purse is still nicely filled, meant to last him until the new moon. It doesn’t matter. He needs new clothes, having burnt most of his. </p><p>The merchant knows Theon well, presenting him with a lovely velvet cloak, black and gold and soft to the touch. Theon shakes his head, opting for one in all black. The fur lining is cheap, rabbit fur, but it’ll have to do. Everything he buys now is black, dark grey, one emerald tunic he can’t resist, a silver cloak clasp in the form of a tree to replace his old kraken one. When the transaction is done he’s almost completely out of coin. Theon shrugs, paying the last stag to have everything delivered to Winterfell. It’s still ten days until the new moon, but he’ll just ask Snow for an advance.</p><p>There are methods to get what he wants, no matter the person he wants it from. Snow shouldn’t be hard to figure out, green boy that he is. A few carefully placed words of praise, a semblance of respect… Theon remembers some times from when they were kids, Snow always so eager to be included, to get some recognition. A kind word, a small gesture from Theon and his little, dour face had lit up… No, Snow won’t pose an obstacle. And if all else should fail, there’s always one surefire way. It has worked on many a wench, on some of the stable boys… A whispered compliment, a few promising looks and touches are all it takes to make them wax in Theon’s hands. </p><p>Occupied by such musing he comes into Winterfell, surprised to see everyone in high uproar. Lord Stark is in the middle of the yard, accompanied by Jory and the inevitable bastard, standing with one hand on Bran’s shoulder. Lord Eddard looks up at Theon’s appearance, dark brows gathering. The fear comes instantly, choking Theon’s throat. He smiles, determined not to let them see, heart beating fast in his chest. He’s left the castle without permission, has defied his guardian… the offense is punishable. Theon glides off his mount, trying not to look guilty. </p><p>“There you are.” Snow’s voice is curt, his face a perfect reflection of his father’s. “Did you get everything I sent you for?”</p><p>Theon recognizes the attempt of salvage, gritting his teeth as another wave of gratitude floods his body. “Aye,” he says as lightly as he can. “All taken care of, <em> my lord.</em>”</p><p>“Good,” Snow repeats. “You come at the right time. Cregan Slate has been caught. They’re bringing him to Winterfell.”</p><p>
  <em> Fuck.  </em>
</p><p>Theon knows the name, of course he does. Slate had become notorious after a group of women and children had been fished out of the sea near Widow’s Watch. They named him as the man who kidnapped and sold them into slavery. Slavery is a crime punishable by death in Westeros, but until now Slate had managed to escape. Seems his luck has changed at last. Theon shudders at the thought of the man being brought here. It’s not that long ago since… </p><p>“You all will be present,” Lord Stark says, and when Theon looks up the grey eyes are looking at him with an unreadable expression.</p><p>“Father–” Snow starts, but Lord Stark shakes his head.</p><p>“No exceptions, Jon. Not in this case.”</p><p>It’s like being hit with a blunt sword, and suddenly Theon doesn’t care anymore if they can see his fear. The last thing he sees is Snow’s miserable face, before Theon turns and runs away like the coward he tried so hard not to be. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Soooo. I really really want to write something for the quarantine fest. All fandoms, all ships, the theme is stuck together. Doesn't have to be related to the momentary pandemic, or any pandemic. Could also be Trapped in an elevator or such. </p><p>What my heart really wants is a fucking long pandemic fic with oodles of angst and such, but I don't really have the capacities for something like that atm. So, if any of you have a prompt or an idea for a nice one-shot, I'm all ears.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Surprise! I think I've found some semblance of flow again, so here's an in-between chapter :)</p><p>The next one I'll post on Friday, as per usual.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>For a moment Jon looks after Theon before he turns to face his father. A dozen different emotions are warring in him. He loves this man, had always fiercely admired and respected him, had strived to be like him on every occasion, had wanted nothing but his approval for all his life… and yet what Jon feels now is desperate anger, cloying disappointment, a heavy sense of incomprehension. Jon always knew Father is stern for a reason, had always thought to know why Father wouldn’t be as warm towards Theon as towards the rest of them, always living – like Theon – with the possibility of one day having to do the worst… But the way everything happened, the coldness, the complete lack of empathy, the blatant disregard of what Theon must think – Jon cannot understand it, nor can he forgive. </p><p>Father isn’t looking at him. The men are silent, waiting for something to happen, for Jon to say something, anything. Jon doesn’t. He’s tired of the warring, the attempt to find a way to mediate between his lord and his charge, tired of finding himself betwixt and between. Besides, contradicting Father’s – <em> Lord Stark’s </em> – orders here and now wouldn’t lead to anything. Jon straightens as he gives up the fight. For now. </p><p>“No exceptions, my lord.” And with a slight bow Jon turns away, Father’s gaze burning in his back. </p><p>He doesn’t go looking for Theon right away, wanting to give him some time to get himself together. Instead Jon goes to the smithy, picking up his order from Mikken and admiring a new sword the smith had just finished. It’s there that Ghost finds Jon, appearing at his side like a silent messenger. His red, intelligent eyes look at Jon with intent, and without a moment’s hesitation Jon follows the wolf out of the smithy and across the courtyard, out of the inner castle and towards the First Keep. The lichyard there has never been Jon’s favourite place, with its ancient headstones spotten with lichen. The servants of the Kings of Winter are buried here. </p><p>Theon is sitting crosslegged on the ground, back leaning against one of the stones. His head is tipped back, eyes closed, and for a moment Jon thinks he’s fallen asleep, when suddenly he starts to chuckle. </p><p>“What the fuck, Snow. Are you sending your beast to spy on me now?” Theon opens one eye, peering at Ghost. “Came here and stared me down like the freak he is. Thought he’s contemplating if I make a good dinner.”</p><p>“Sorry,” Jon says stupidly. He didn’t know Ghost had been looking for Theon, though it doesn’t come as a surprise. Somehow the wolf always seems to know what’s on Jon’s mind. “I didn’t send him.”</p><p>“Well,” Theon drawls, stretching lazily before he sits up straighter, rubbing his face. “What’s the outcome then, my lord and master? Did you tell dada where to stuff his lovely example-setting?”</p><p>“We are to attend.” Jon shrugs, feeling small and inadequate under Theon’s mocking glance. “There’s no use fighting him when he’s made up his mind.”</p><p>“Hah. Oh well.” Theon’s grin is a bitter, harsh thing. “What do you want then? Did you come to assure me you’ll be with me then? Hold my hand when we watch old Cregan meet the same fate that had been intended for me?” He snorts, chuckles. “Fuck you and your pity. <em> My lord.</em>”</p><p>“I’m not here to pity you,” Jon retorts, pausing in surprise for a moment. It’s true, there’s no pity. Sympathy, yes. Anger at being mocked once again. A sense of duty. But apart from that… “I don’t know why I’m here,” Jon finally mutters, feeling stupid. </p><p>“The things you know can be counted on one hand,” Theon says with his usual smile. “But I reckon I ought to thank you for being so quick to lie for me before. Although… you’d be punished as well as me, wouldn’t you? Saving your own bastard hide…” The smile widens, gnawing at Jon’s insides. “Snow the craven.”</p><p>“I wasn’t the one who ran away,” Jon snaps, regretting it instantly when Theon’s smile freezes. “Look, I didn’t mean – I know you’re going through a tough–”</p><p>“You know <em> nothing</em>, you stupid cunt,” Theon hisses, all semblance of japing vanished. “You think I’ll magically feel better just from seeing your stupid face? You think you can do <em> anything </em> I wouldn’t want to throw back at you? You think… you <em> dare </em> to presume you know <em> anything </em> about me?”</p><p>Jon stands silently, letting it all wash over him like a tidal wave, refusing to be hurt by the acid in Theon’s words. </p><p>“Poor Theon, betrayed by his own kin, discarded by the man who took him in, left to die by his friend, oh, I’m such a righteous, honourable bastard, I’ll go and <em> rescue </em> poor Theon, no matter if he wants it or not because I’m the son of honourable Ned Stark and a common <em> whore</em>…”</p><p>Jon fights the urge to cover his ears against the nastiness, against the truth in everything Theon says. He doesn't, just tries to tell himself that Theon needs to get it off his chest, that all the things he says are said out of desperation and pain. </p><p>“<em>Why don’t you just – fuck – off?</em>” Theon is almost yelling, his face an angry shade of pink, but as suddenly as the rage has started it’s gone again, and Theon exhales a shuddery breath, sounding more miserable than angry. “I hate you, Snow. I detest the very thought of you.”</p><p>For a long moment Jon says nothing, carefully breathing in and out. It hurts, despite his efforts to not let it. Being rejected like this… gods be good, but it hurts. They’ve reached a point where any going forward seems impossible, and so there’s only one thing left that Jon can do. </p><p>“Give me the canine,” he says, holding out his hand. </p><p>At that Theon looks up, paling so suddenly Jon makes a step in his direction. His eyes are huge, a pale, stormy blue, and despite everything Theon has said there’s no hate in them. Only fear. </p><p>“Snow,” Theon starts, and now he sounds anxious. “Snow, you’re not – you can’t mean to – if you take it back…”</p><p>“Give it to me,” Jon repeats firmly, waiting for Theon to fumble the tooth from his pocket. He holds it out, fingers shaking. Jon takes it without a word, producing the silver necklace Mikken has fashioned for him from his pocket. There’s a small, silver setting hanging from it, and Jon presses the canine into it. It’s a tight fit, but with a small effort it’s done and the tooth is securely enclosed. </p><p>“There is no taking it back, you idiot,” Jon says, dropping the necklace into Theon’s hand. He feels dumb, ridiculous and theatrical, but if he doesn’t say it now he never will. “You can hate me as much as you wish, but I swear this to you: I will not abandon you, no matter the things you say to me. Stop sending me away. I’m not going anywhere.”</p><p>And with that Jon takes the last step, sinking to the ground beside Theon, their shoulders almost touching. Silence spreads, the shadow of the First Keep towering over them getting longer and longer. After a while Ghost comes over to stretch out in front of them, laying his huge head in Jon’s lap. Jon buries his hand in the thick, white fur, ruffling through it. The motion calms his thundering heartbeat, eases the tension in his body. Jon keeps his gaze down, doesn’t look at Theon, but then he catches a movement from the corner of his eye. Theon’s hand slowly closes around the necklace; he huffs softly. </p><p>“You’re a stubborn fucker, I’ll give you that.” </p><p>Theon sighs, and then he moves, his shoulder bumping into Jon’s when he fastens the necklace behind his nape and lets the canine glide under his tunic. He doesn’t move away again, and something about the tiny, warm contact makes Jon’s stomach churn in a weird, slightly unsettling way. His hand closes around the earring in his pocket, the second canine poking into his finger. Not yet, Jon decides. He’ll keep this one for another day, another moment of peace. </p><p>“Tell me something,” he says quietly. “Something I don’t know.”</p><p>“Impossible.” Theon laughs, but this time it’s more teasing than outright mocking. “Too many things to choose from.” Jon just snorts, making Theon laugh again. “Let’s see… have you ever heard the story of Nagga the Sea dragon?”</p><p>Jon shakes his head. </p><p>“It’s an old ironborn legend. I don’t really remember the details anymore, my…” Theon hums. “My mother used to tell it to me. It starts with the mightiest of all dragons, She was the first of them, huge, able to drown whole islands in a rage. I don’t really remember what happened, but I think she was slain by a king…”</p><p>Theon talks, and Jon listens. The sun is setting, and slowly it’s starting to get cold, but neither of them get up. For the first time since the news of the rebellion have reached Winterfell, Jon feels a sense of peace. Maybe, just maybe, this could be something like a truce. A fresh start. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Moving forward ever so slightly...</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Good morning/evening! </p><p>Hope you're all staying safe and don't get cabin fever like me. Writing really is a lifeline in these times.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s been three days since their potential truce, and so far things seem to have taken a turn for the better. While they’re not exactly on friendly terms, Theon at least has stopped actively running away from Jon, which can only be counted as a victory. It makes Jon feel less anxious, less restless, seeing him every now and then throughout the day. There’s one problem left gnawing away at Jon, though: what task to give Theon to do. In that regard Jon agrees with Father. Theon shouldn’t be idle, left to his own devices all day long. Sure, there’s still the training – not as much as usual, what with Robb being absent, but enough to while away a few hours. </p><p>Jon has started to use his free time to read his way through the library, reading up on some things he’s recently developed an interest in. Maester Luwin often keeps him company, grateful when Jon helps putting the books away, especially on the lower shelves. <em> Not hard for you, Snow, you’re not that far off the ground, </em>Theon would say. Would’ve said. Jon sighs, crouching before a shelf to search for a particular book. He’d never thought he’d actually miss the casual teasing from the old days. Easier times. He lets his eyes wander over the rows of books, coming up empty-handed. </p><p>“It’s not here,” he says, looking up at the maester sitting at his desk. “But I found one of those romantic tales Sansa likes.”</p><p>“I’m sorry, lad.” The maester puts his quill down. “Winterfell’s inhabitants do read a great many books. And not a single man or woman puts them back where they belong. What this library needs is a thorough inventory, a complete reorganization.” He smiles tiredly. “Not in my lifetime, I fear.”</p><p>“Unless…” Jon slowly gets to his feet. Theon will hate it, surely. But until there’s something else…</p><p>After lunch Jon locates Theon in the inner ward, stalking up on him as he fires one arrow after the other right into the bullseye of the practise target. He doesn’t even pause when Jon appears next to him, simply nocking another arrow as casual as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. Jon watches it hit the target, joining the other arrows already crowding the middle, mild envy making him sigh. Although he’s well trained enough with the longbow, Jon knows he’ll never be as skilled as Theon, as effortlessly graceful with a bow in his hand. </p><p>“Watch and learn, Snow,” Theon says out of the blue, startling Jon. But it sounds neutral enough, so he decides to keep his mouth shut and do just that. Theon cocks an eyebrow. “It’s about the way you’re lifting your arm. I’ve watched you, you’re too slow. You take too much time aiming.”</p><p>To emphasize his point, Theon takes another arrow from the quiver at his feet, nocking, drawing, and before Jon can follow its path through the air, the arrow is already sticking out of the target. </p><p>“See what I mean?” Theon asks, turning to Jon with the familiar, cocky smirk. “Now, is there anything else I can do for you or did you just come to admire my virtuous skills?” </p><p>He leans on his bow, stroking a lock of hair from his forehead, looking so bloody arrogant Jon wants to slap him. It actually feels good, just like before, so much so Jon almost smiles before he can think better of it. It seems to unsettle Theon somewhat, his brows gathering, and Jon quickly arranges his face into a stern expression, as befitting of a guardian. </p><p>“I wanted to talk to you, but not here. Do you think you could… I want you come to see me in my chamber tonight after dinner.”</p><p>“Oho!” Theon whistles, grin firmly back in place. He wiggles his eyebrows. “Shall I bring wine and candles?” Jon only rolls his eyes, making Theon cackle. “Alright, my lord bastard, I’ll be there. Happens I wanted to talk to you about something, too.”</p><p>“Good,” Jon states, and not knowing what else to say he clears his throat. “Er… keep practising then.”</p><p>“Why, thank you,” Theon drawls, voice dripping with sarcasm, “for your gracious permission. I wouldn’t know what to do without you, my lord and master.”</p><p>Jon flees the scene with heated cheeks. </p><p>He hasn’t been in his chambers for a half hour after dinner when the knock already comes. Theon hadn’t been at table, but he’s here now, with such an ominous look in his eye it makes Jon take an involuntary step back. Theon looks like he’s up to something. There’s the cocksure grin, the slightly raised eyebrow – but his eyes are glittering in a fashion that Jon doesn’t like at all. </p><p>“At your service, master,” Theon says, stepping inside and closing the door as if it were his room. He leans against the door. “What did you want to tell me?”</p><p>No small talk then, Jon thinks with relief. It’s not something he’s particularly good at. “I came up with something for you to do,” he says, cringing internally at how imperious it sounds. “Since you’re not attending Father anymore.”</p><p>“Aye, that… thank you for that one.” Theon makes a little bow. “I know it’s stupid, but…”</p><p>“No, I understand that.” Jon frowns, confused. Theon sounds uncharacteristically mellow. But that won’t last when he hears what he’ll be doing. Jon straightens his shoulders, steeling himself for the inevitable protest. “Maester Luwin is getting on a bit. His back is troubling him and he needs help.” Jon takes a deep breath. “I want you to help him catalogue and reorganize the library.”</p><p>At first Theon doesn’t say anything at all, simply looking at Jon with that strange, unsettling, somehow <em> calculating </em> expression. “Oh well,” he finally says, shrugging. “I guess you could’ve come up with something worse. I don’t know, shovelling horse dung or something equally nasty. Alright, I’ll slave away for the old man.”</p><p><em> What? </em> Jon stares at Theon, utterly bewildered. That… that’s it? No talking back, no fight… nothing? For a wild moment Jon suspects foul play, maybe the Others have taken Theon… or is it a joke? Everything’s a joke to Theon, maybe he just means to make fun of Jon again… </p><p>“Shadowcat got your tongue?” Theon smirks, pushing himself off the door. “Nevermind. That all you wanted to tell me, Snow?” </p><p>Jon nods, completely thrown by so much obedient compliance. He swallows, trying to sort out his head. “You said you wanted to talk to me,” he finally says. </p><p>“Oh, aye.” Theon shrugs casually. “It’s not that important, just… I’m in a bit of a spot, actually. Had a few unexpected expenses, and now I happen to be out of coin.”</p><p>Oh. <em> Oh. </em> It’s mostly relief washing over Jon, followed by a hint of disappointment. At least he knows now. Of course there’s a reason for Theon’s weirdly good behaviour. </p><p>“It’s only five days till the new moon. You’ll get your usual allowance then,” he mutters.</p><p>“I know that,” Theon snaps before he visibly checks himself. “Look, I know it’s not that long, but I need it now.”</p><p>“What for?” Jon asks. If it’s something essential, like clothes, he could give Theon some of his own allowance. It’s a lot more than Jon could ever spend in a moon himself anyway, and it’s part of his duty now, taking care of stuff like that. </p><p>“Not that it’s any of your business, Snow, but I’m in dire need of some company. <em> Female </em> company.” Theon smiles, a wide, lewd grin that makes Jon’s stomach drop. Not <em> that </em>again! </p><p>“I’m sorry,” he says. “You’ll have to make do without for five more days. I’m sure you and the lady will survive.”</p><p>“The <em> lady? </em> Drowned God, if I tell Ros you called her a lady she’ll charge me double the usual rate.” Theon cackles, reaching out, and before Jon can back off Theon has already patted his cheek condescendingly. “Come on, man, why not? I mean, of course you wouldn’t understand, prude that you are. A nice pair of tits, a sopping cunt… a plump, kissable mouth…” </p><p>Theon’s thumb drives over Jon’s lips, the gesture too deliberate to be anything but mocking. And yet it renders Jon speechless, unable to move a muscle. His skin is burning where Theon has touched it, and at the same time a shiver runs down his spine. </p><p>“You’re decent-looking enough, Snow,” Theon drawls lowly, coming closer. “Why not come with me? I bet we’ll find a wench for you too, one that’ll be gentle with a maiden like you…” He takes one of Jon’s curls, wrapping it around his finger. “Hair like that, fuck, maybe they’ll even pay <em> you</em>… it’s not so bad, Snow. You shouldn’t deprive yourself of all fun. There are ways to make sure you’re not begetting a bastard, if that’s really your main concern.”</p><p>A tremble goes through Jon as he stands there, helpless, unable to find his voice. Theon is so very near, his eyes dark, his smile darker. </p><p>“Or… is there another reason? Why you won’t take a woman? Maybe that’s the problem, hm, Snow? The <em> woman </em>part?” Theon leans even closer, his breath washing over Jon’s face. “I could help you there, Snow, if you want. I could show you things…”</p><p><em> Gods help me, </em>Jon thinks as his eyes fall shut and Theon’s lips touch his. It’s so very strange, soft, a lot softer than Jon would have imagined a man’s mouth to be, Theon’s mouth, if he ever had imagined such a thing. Jon’s heart is beating so hard it almost hurts, a swooping feeling in his stomach, a dizziness to his mind that makes him sway. And then Theon’s hand is on his back, steadying him as his mouth opens against Jon’s, warm and wet and taking Jon’s breath away. </p><p>It’s an eternity before Theon moves back, another before Jon dares to open his eyes. Theon is smiling, so smug, so sure of himself, and suddenly the confusion is gone, entirely replaced by sheer anger. </p><p>“No,” Jon says hoarsely, taking a necessary step back. “Come back in five days.” </p><p>The smile is gone so suddenly Jon starts, the warmth of the room seeming to vanish. </p><p>“Fuck you,” Theon says, voice shaking; he turns on his heel, the door slamming shut behind him. </p><p>Jon continues to stand there, dumbly staring at the door for what feels like hours. This can’t have happened. It <em> can’t </em> – it goes against everything Jon ever believed in, against everything he knew about himself, against everything he swore… And yet. And yet his heart is still beating fast, and with a sense of utter desperation Jon sinks onto his bed. </p><p>
  <em> Bastard. </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I've been incredibly lucky until recently, always had someone to discuss my writing with, someone to tell me if I'm making sense (I tend to forget readers aren't able to read my mind) or make me scrutinize everything etc. As of now, with the current situation, that has changed, and with this story I'm for the first time writing into a void, kinda. </p><p>What I want to say is, thank you so much for your comments on this. They, especially now, mean the world to me.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello, it's Friday again! </p><p>A little something I want to tell you before you read the chapter: I think Cat is a very interesting character, especially in the books, and I adore the Lady Stoneheart storyline. But I love Jon Snow way too much to ever forgive her treatment of him. So, while this certainly isn't meant to be Cat-bashing, she's not exactly shown in a shining light. </p><p>And now for something completely different: THE SKI FIC IS BACK!!! For those of you who don't know it, it's the most amazing modern AU Greysnow fic ever to grace the web, written by my amazingly talented and wonderful friend. It's a WIP, but it will definitely be finished (I had the honour of getting a glimpse of the ending) and I swear to you every single chapter is worth the wait. You'll find it in the Theon/Jon tag, it's called 'We're not the kissing kind, are we?' It's SO GOOD!!!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There’s not much sleep to be had, and dawn finds Jon exhausted and weary. Whenever he’d dozed off he’d been plagued by images he doesn’t know where they came from, of cool hands on his heated face, of lips moving against his… and everything is drenched by guilt, piercing the red haze filling his mind. The taste of him… Jon tosses and turns, clawing at his furs in a desperate attempt to ignore his body’s reaction to something so simple, something that seemed so insignificant when looking at it from an outsider’s perspective, and yet the most significant thing to happen to him – no, that’s not true. The pledge had been significant. Life altering. So why does Jon feel completely altered once again? </p><p>He dresses quickly, giving in to the sudden need to visit the heart tree, unload at least some of it. Pray that the old gods will hear him and take those uncalled-for notions away, extinguish whatever taints his blood, give him back a semblance of peace, no matter how brittle. The tentative truce between him and Theon is shattered, has to be. Jon doesn’t know how he can go on looking at him like nothing has happened. The only consolation is that it wouldn’t have been anything to Theon but a passing fancy, a means to get what he wants. Nothing more. Jon prays he will be able to see things the same eventually. Nothing happened. </p><p>He hasn’t come far when the shrill voice intercepts his way to the godswood, and Jon stops, bewildered. It is early; the sun hasn’t even climbed over the walls of Winterfell. No one but the servants and the guards on duty should be up yet. Maybe it’s a strife between maids, Jon muses, shaking his head and ready to continue on his way when he hears something making him freeze mid-step. A man’s voice, loud and slurred, demanding for the screaming to stop. Jon’s heart sinks as he recognizes the drunken drawl and, feeling a hundred years old, he turns and heads for the direction of the noise. </p><p>He finds them in front of Lady Stark’s sept: Theon, a brown-haired girl sobbing into her apron – and Lady Stark herself, red-faced and looking beside herself with anger. Jon’s steps slow almost to a halt when he sees the state Theon is in: his hair a mess, streaks of dirt on his face, his clothes in disarray, as if he’d pulled them on in great haste. The girl’s dress looks equally slovenly, and when Jon sees the three empty bottles to Theon’s feet his stomach drops. </p><p>“<em>Impossible </em> behaviour… after all this family has done for you… the effrontery… place of worship… <em> inconceivable…” </em></p><p>Lady Stark’s rage is obvious; she’s barely able to form coherent sentences. Jon has never seen her like this. She’s usually more controlled, prone to let her words drip with venom rather than losing her countenance. Whatever Theon has done, he clearly has crossed several lines. Jon looks at him, how he clutches his forehead as if having a headache, his face pale beneath the smudges from gods-know-what, and suddenly Jon wishes fervently <em> not </em> to know, not to have any part whatsoever in this. They haven’t noticed him yet, he could still creep away, unseen, pretending nothing ever happened. </p><p>“My lady, please,” Theon says hoarsely, sounding as if he has sand between his teeth. “Let me explain–”</p><p>“You will keep your mouth shut, you… you…” Lady Stark takes a deep breath, appearing to search for something vile to throw at Theon, and Jon’s sense of duty prevails. </p><p>“Explain to <em> me</em>,” he says, taking another unwilling step towards the assembled party. </p><p>Three heads turn to him at once; the girl surfacing from her apron with red, puffy eyes; Theon with a look of utter horror, quickly turning into a drunken leer; and Lady Stark, all anger draining from her figure as she narrows her eyes at Jon. </p><p>“You,” she says coldly. “Where have <em> you </em> been while your <em> charge </em>desecrated my sept?”</p><p>Jon ignores her, ignores the sting from the vitriol in her words and looks, concentrating on Theon instead. He’s grinning, shrugging in a light, aloof fashion. </p><p>“Nothing, my lord bastard. Nicked a few bottles of Arbor Gold, had a bit of fun with lovely Sara here–”</p><p>“Cara,” the girl squeaks indignantly before her eye wanders to Lady Stark’s furious glare, whereupon Cara breaks into a fresh wave of tears.</p><p>“Whatever,” Theon mutters. He groans, presses his flat hand to his stomach. “I feel sick.”</p><p>“Sick,” Lady Stark spits, “<em>sick! </em> You – you and this … this <em> jade</em>–”</p><p>“I’m so sorry, m’lady, please–”</p><p>“Silence!” </p><p>The word rings through the cool air, and suddenly Jon feels sick too, his throat tightening as he sees his father quickly approaching them.</p><p>He studies them all in turn, finally settling on Jon. “What is going on here?” he asks calmly. </p><p>“I’m afraid I don’t have all the details yet,” Jon starts. “But I think Theon has been drinking last night and persuaded this girl to… It appears Lady Stark found them in the sept, in a… in a compromising situation.”</p><p>“Is that correct?” </p><p>Father’s gaze turns to Theon, paling under the stern scrutiny as he reluctantly nods once. Jon swallows, a horrible feeling rising in his chest. What will Father– </p><p>“I told you, Ned!” Lady Stark is looking at her husband, spots of red colouring her cheeks. “I <em> knew </em> he wouldn’t be able to control that lecherous boy, I <em> knew </em> it! Didn’t I tell you to ignore all this nonsense, didn’t I say that nothing good could come of it? And now we have proof!”</p><p>“Cat–”</p><p>“Even a true Stark would have trouble with your <em> ward, </em> let alone a bastard like <em> him</em>, without honour, without–”</p><p>“Enough, woman!” </p><p>Father’s face is pale, his eyes on Jon, a silent plea in them. Jon’s head is pounding; he feels as if he’s the one having had too much to drink. Lady Catelyn’s detestation of him isn’t new, but to hear the words spoken out loud… He’s nauseous, and so, <em> so </em> tired. </p><p>“You’re upset, Catelyn,” Father soothes his wife. “You don’t – this isn’t the time – I’ll deal with it. You,” he addresses Cara, “wash your face and go back to work. We will not speak of this anymore, but be aware that, should it happen again, you’ll be sent back to your family in disgrace.”</p><p>“Yes, m’lord, thank you, m’lord!” Under a dozen curtseys the girl gathers the empty bottles and hurries away, visibly relieved. </p><p>“Jon, Theon, you’ll wait for me in my solar while I talk to the septon.”</p><p>Jon opens his mouth, thinking better of it and nodding at Theon to follow him. They walk in silence, only accompanied by Theon’s low groans. Jon hopes he feels <em> really </em> bad. His own stomach hurts, a tight knot of anger. They find the door unlocked and Jon opens it, waiting for Theon to go through before entering himself. Theon is swaying slightly, yawning, still seeming drunk and half-asleep despite all the upheaval he’s caused. And maybe it’s the alcohol that causes him to be so calm, to smile that lazy smile Jon hates like nothing else this very moment. </p><p>“Don’t look s’ worried, Snow.” Theon shrugs, yawns again. “Whatever d’you expect to happen? Prob’ly a stern talking-to, that’s what’ll happen. You’re the fa-favourite son ‘n I’m your poor little charge, noth-nothing he can do.”</p><p>“Shut up,” Jon says, biting his lip to not start yelling. “Shut <em> the fuck </em> up, you bloody fool!”</p><p>“Oops,” Theon smirks. “Are we a little tet-tetchy because of Lady Catelyn’s words? Naught but the truth, bastard. You’re not a real Stark, you’re not – not equal to me. Can’t control me, hah!”</p><p>Jon doesn’t answer, tries not to listen. It’s hopeless, Theon’s words are like knives. </p><p>“Thought you’d won, have you… Tell you what, you can’t win this one, can’t…” Theon chuckles. “‘S your fault, anyway. Had you given me what I asked for, I would’ve gone t’ town, see Ros, get some – you refused me, aye? Had to find my fun else – other – here, I mean.” He laughs, shrill and nasty. “Wasn’t too bad, that one. Nice tits, lovely arse… bit ugly, but one has to take what they can – you know, the next best thing. Much better than a certain cold bastard at any rate–”</p><p>He’s moving before he’s consciously decided to, both hands fisted into Theon’s doublet as Jon smashes him into the wall. He’s not seeing straight, a red haze covering everything once again, only this time it is sheer rage. </p><p>“Shut the <em> fuck </em> up, you…” Beyond words, Jon snarls, shaking Theon so his head thumps again the stone. And Theon… he laughs. He’s <em> laughing</em>, not even fighting back, limply hanging in Jon’s hold and letting himself be rattled about. </p><p>“Knew it,” he wheezes, “knew I’d get you with that, Snow…”</p><p>Jon lets go of Theon as if he’s on fire all of a sudden, taking a step back and staring at him as he continues to talk. </p><p>“Truth be told… expected a little more of that mouth, eh? Looks made to suck cock, mother a whore…” Theon cackles, staying where he is leaning against the wall. “And you think you rule over <em> me? </em> You think I’m meekly following <em> you? </em> The maiden, the bastard?”</p><p>There’s nothing to say to that, nothing Jon can think of. All he feels is resignation, anger, sadness. He’d thought they’d found a common ground, thought he’d gotten through to Theon, thought they’d – what on earth makes him so hateful? There’s no time to ponder it. The door opens and Lord Stark enters, hesitating for just a moment when he sees them standing several feet apart, Theon against the wall and Jon in the middle of the room with his hands balled into fists. With a barely noticeable shake of his head, Father goes to sit behind his desk. Jon immediately moves to stand in front of it, waiting for Father to speak. </p><p>“I’m very disappointed in you, Jon,” Father says after an agonizingly long silence. “I thought you would take more care to ensure your charge’s good behaviour. Apparently I was wrong.”</p><p>“I’m sorry, my lord.” Jon looks at his boots, face burning with shame. Father is right, <em> Theon </em> is right. It’s <em> his </em>responsibility – and he failed once again. “I will do everything in my power to better your opinion of me.” </p><p>Jon glances up, and swallows against the lump in his throat when he sees Father’s face. It has softened, the mouth not a tight line anymore. </p><p>“I am sure you will. I have faith in you, son.”</p><p>Jon almost smiles when a snort in his back has him turn around. Theon’s cheeks are pink, eyes wide and startled – maybe he didn’t mean for it to be this loud. Father has heard it too, all softness gone from his face in a heartbeat. He gets to his feet, walking around his desk until he’s in front of Theon. Theon has gone white, trying to move back and meeting nothing but stone, and the sight of it is enough to melt some of Jon’s anger, to remind him <em> why </em> he did what he did. He wants to step between them, shielding Theon… he stays put. It’s a ridiculous notion anyway, Father wouldn’t raise a hand against Theon, not like this, not here. </p><p>“Theon,” Father says coldly. “You refuse to act as an adult, so you will not be treated as one.” His back straightens, his whole body emitting cool determination. “Hear your punishment: You will clean the sept to atone for your sins, and…”</p><p>Father clears his throat. Cleaning the sept doesn’t sound too bad, Jon thinks, almost relieved. Of course Theon will hate it but it could be worse–</p><p>“And twenty lashes with the belt.”</p><p>A strange sound reaches Jon’s ears, something between a gasp and a whimper – and it’s impossible to say if it came from Theon or himself. </p><p>“Jon.” Father turns his grey eyes on Jon. “Since he is <em> your </em> charge, <em> your </em> responsibility, <em> you </em> will carry out the punishment. Mayhaps it will make you take your responsibility more seriously.”</p><p>Jon breathes in sharply; he can’t believe what he just heard. He searches Father’s face, for another glimpse of softening, a hint of warmth – he finds none, only steel and ice. Jon’s gaze travels to Theon, finds him staring back with shocked eyes. He looks wide awake, sober, all sleep-haze and residual drunkenness evaporated. Nothing is left of the arrogant prick of last night, of just moments ago, no smugness, no confidence, and for a wild moment Jon <em> wants </em> to hurt him, wants to strike him right across that wide, unsmiling mouth with all its implications – Jon shudders, appalled with himself. This is not who he is, not who he strives to be. Father is still talking, and Jon tries hard to follow his words, despite the haziness of his thoughts. </p><p>“You may fulfil your duty here, with me as the sole witness, instead of in front of the whole household.”</p><p>“Father–”</p><p>“This is my last word, boy, be glad I’m even making this concession!” </p><p>Jon’s whole body feels like he’s freezing from the inside. He can’t do it. He can’t bear the thought of causing Theon pain, no matter how deserved, no matter the small part of his mind whispering to him, telling him to just get it over with and maybe it will make Theon see that this is real, that this is what the pledge was about… The thought comes out of nowhere, blindsiding Jon with its meaning, its magnitude. </p><p><em> Will you take on any punishment dealt to him for his acts? </em> </p><p>The wording isn’t conclusive; there’s a double meaning... a way out. </p><p><em> I will</em>, Jon repeats the pledge in his mind, taking a step forward. </p><p>“On account of the promise I made, and with your consent, my lord – I will take the punishment from your hands myself.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Somehow the chapters seem to get longer and longer... </p><p>Next up: Another Theon POV! While I definitely love writing from Jon's POV how he gets spanked (I'm not even sorry anymore), this one needs to be from Theon's perspective, for... reasons. </p><p>Hope you liked this one, dears – your comments are a beacon of light in a dreary world. Stay safe! ❤️</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Good day to you! And to those celebrating, a good Good Friday, or a good Pesach, etc. </p><p>Hope you like today's Theon POV!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Time has slowed down to a trickle at Lord Stark’s words. <em> Twenty lashes</em>. The words keep echoing in Theon’s mind, making it impossible to form a clear thought. Twenty lashes… he’s not a boy anymore, this is meant to humiliate him for not letting Snow control him. <em> You will carry out the punishment. </em> Snow? <em> Snow </em> is to do it, the bastard is the one to – it’s not possible, it can’t be. Theon looks over at him, panic rising like bile in his throat. Snow looks back, and for a moment there’s nothing but naked fury in his gaze. Theon swallows, a chill creeping down his spine. All the japes at Snow’s cost, all the bastards and taunts and insults, all the things Theon said to him – and here’s the perfect opportunity for Snow to take revenge. </p><p>Revenge for last night, too. Theon shudders at the memory, of Snow’s plump, soft mouth opening under his. It had been warm, and surprisingly sweet. Sweet enough Theon might have lingered a tad longer than necessary to ignite the flame he hoped would turn Snow pliable to what Theon wanted from him, warm enough to make him forget for the tiniest of moments why he was doing it. And then. <em> No. </em>Rejection. From Snow? Impossible. He’s no one compared to Theon, has nothing on him in terms of experience, status… Rejected by the bastard. </p><p>Theon looks away, unable to bear the brunt of Snow’s hatred, no matter how deserved. He feels cold. He’s <em> scared. </em>For the first time in his life he’s scared of the bastard, so far beneath him and yet the one having the power over Theon, his life, his actions, his everything. The thought of the bastard swinging the belt, of the <em> Stark bastard </em>being able to do such a thing without anything Theon can do – it makes his chest tighten in helpless anger, makes his eyes smart and sting. It’s not fair. None of what’s happening is. Of course Snow would revel in it, of course he would, Theon thinks desperately, wants to scream, he knew the fucking bastard would. Why else would he have taken the fucking pledge, invoked the fucking law–</p><p>“...I will take the punishment from your hands myself.”</p><p>Theon’s head snaps up as the words filter through the haze clouding his mind. Snow’s back is turned to him so he can’t see his face, but his shoulders are squared, his stance determined. The room is silent, the only sound Theon can hear his own heartbeat. He must’ve misheard, he’s tired, hungover, Snow can’t… Theon braves a look at Lord Stark's face, flinching when he sees the expression on it. For the first time ever, since Theon first saw this face, covered in blood and dirt, it shows surprise, shock even. He’s heard it too. Snow really said it. Theon fumbles for the wall behind him for support as his knees threaten to give in. The word comes unbidden, is out before Theon can stop it. </p><p>“Snow,” he says, croaks, and again, “Snow–”</p><p>“Shut up.”</p><p>Snow isn’t even looking at Theon, continues to stare at his father’s face until he receives the tiniest nod in return. Theon sees it as well. It makes his stomach lurch in a nauseating way, somehow worse than what the alternative would have been, if Lord Stark had said no. With growing disbelief Theon watches Snow undo his breeches until they fall to the floor, pooling around his ankles. He watches Lord Stark take off his belt, watches him step behind Snow, watches Snow brace himself on the table. It’s so surreal, like the worst, liquor-induced nightmare – it can’t be real. Snow would never – why would Snow – Theon shakes his head. He can’t wrap his head around it, can’t comprehend what unfolds right before his eyes. </p><p>Maybe, Theon thinks, maybe Snow knows Lord Stark will go easy on him, the favourite son, easier than on the hostage. This must be it. The thought floods Theon with relief, it won’t be so bad for Snow, it won’t – the first lash falls, loud, obscenely so, the leather hitting naked flesh hard, and Theon recoils at the pained grunt Snow emits. This is very real. The next three lashes come in quick succession, making Snow throw back his head, sending shivers down Theon’s spine. It’s really happening. </p><p>No one has ever done anything like this for him. </p><p>
  <em> He’s doing it for me.  </em>
</p><p>But why? <em> Why? </em> Why would Snow do this? Why for <em> Theon? </em></p><p>
  <em> He swore it. </em>
</p><p>So what? People swear stuff all the time, hardly ever keeping their word. Vows mean nothing. Father vowed not to revolt again. Vows mean nothing. </p><p>
  <em> They do to him.  </em>
</p><p>Snow the fucking martyr. Hands balled to angry fists Theon grits his teeth as the punishment commences, as Snow can’t hold back anymore, groaning at every lash dealt to him, his bare backside covered in angry welts, bruises starting to bloom on the back of his thighs. Theon swallows, trying to latch onto the anger rising in him. He didn’t ask him to. He didn’t want any of this, it’s the bastard’s own fucking fault. </p><p>
  <em> No one ever cared for me the way he does.  </em>
</p><p>The thought stings, and Theon forcefully pushes it away. At long last it’s over, Snow straightens, pulling his breeches back up with shaky fingers. “Thank you, my lord,” he says hoarsely. </p><p>Lord Stark hesitates for just a moment before he gently places his hand on Snow’s shoulder. </p><p>“I was wrong. You know your responsibility. I am proud of you, son.” He turns to Theon, studying him with the usual dispassionate expression. “I do hope you realize how fortunate you are. Don’t throw this away just because of your pride. You can’t afford it.” </p><p>And with that he walks out, leaving them alone. Theon looks down on his hands. They’re trembling, and for once he doesn’t know what to say. </p><p>“You should go and clean the sept.” </p><p>Snow’s voice is blank. He turns around and Theon swallows at the equally blank look in Snow’s eyes. Tear streaks are drying on his reddened face, his lower lip is bleeding where he must’ve bitten down on it. </p><p>“Snow, I–”</p><p>“There you go.” Snow pulls a bulging satchel from his pocket, throwing it at Theon’s feet. “That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it? Take it all, I don’t care.” He exhales carefully, flinching at every step as he walks to the door. He must be in pain. “You have my permission to leave after you’re finished with the sept. Come back before sunrise.” </p><p>“Listen, Snow–”</p><p>“Don’t–” Snow takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to have your fucking face in my sight until the next new moon.” </p><p>The door slams shut behind him. Slowly Theon crouches down, taking the satchel in his hands. It’s heavy, heavier than what he used to receive from Lord Stark every new moon, via Vayon Poole. Theon pulls the string to open the bag and mechanically starts to count. Two hundred stags. He slumps to the floor, numbly staring at the heap of silver. Snow has given him everything. </p><p>It takes a long while before Theon manages to peel himself off the floor, before he has gathered enough energy to reluctantly slink outside and to the sept. On his way he flags down one of the wenches running around, demanding a bucket of hot water and whatever else he needs. She stammers, blushes, promises to fetch him everything at once. Maybe he’s fucked her some time, he can’t remember. She returns soon enough with the water and a coarse, nasty brush. </p><p>The work is much harder than he would’ve thought. When he’s done Theon’s hands are red and raw, his knees smart and his back is killing him. He stinks, of sweat and dirt, and when Arya walks in with her dirty shoes Theon very nearly throws the brush at her. Instead he grits his teeth as she hops onto the socle of the Stranger, dangling her feet, and goes to scrub away her bootprints. </p><p>“Did Father hit you?” she asks, sounding curious. </p><p>Theon looks up at her, wiping his forehead. He hates that she sees him like that. They’re not friends, she’s never liked him, but the mere presence of any Stark feels like added humiliation. </p><p>“No,” he finally says. “Your fucking bastard brother thought he had to take the punishment.”</p><p>This renders her speechless, but only for a moment. </p><p>“You… you let… you <em> let Jon</em>…” Her face is pale and furious as she jumps down. “I always knew you’re a coward,” she hisses, upsetting the bucket as she storms out. </p><p>The rest of the meanwhile cold water soaks through Theon’s already damp breeches. There is new dirt on the stone. He doesn’t even care anymore, mechanically scrubbing them once more before he stiffly gets to his feet. Every muscle in his body is aching, but somehow the only thing he can concentrate on is sound of Snow’s cries as he took Theon’s punishment, and Arya’s words. </p><p><em> Coward</em>. </p><p>Should he have thrown himself between Snow and Lord Stark? The mere vision is enough to make Theon shudder. It’s not part of his duty. Not part of what he pledged. </p><p>
  <em> Will you pledge to defend him against all enemies, and give your life for his if need be? </em>
</p><p>Lord Stark is Snow’s father, not his enemy. Snow knew what he got himself into. It’s not Theon’s problem if the bastard is going too far in his ridiculous sense of righteousness. </p><p>
  <em> He did it for me. He saved me again.  </em>
</p><p>“I didn’t ask him to,” Theon mutters, praying his stupid mind will shut the fuck up and leave him alone. </p><p>
  <em> He doesn’t deserve to be treated like shit.  </em>
</p><p>Fuck this! Theon gives the bucket a violent kick. That girl he may or may not have fucked will put it away for him. And then she can fetch him a bath. </p><p> </p><p>He needs to visit Wintertown as soon as he possibly can. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thoughts? Questions? I truly appreciate all your lovely comments on this fic so far, you've been incredibly kind ❤️ </p><p>And now for something completely different: in the course of AO3 changing (guest hits don't count anymore - kudos still do) it has come to my attention that I am in the possession of invites to AO3.</p><p>So if any of you don't have an account yet and want one, drop me a note on tumblr (owlsinathens) and I can send you an invite! </p><p>Stay safe, dears!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello, lovelies! I hope you are all doing as well as can be expected and had a good weekend! </p><p>I, for one, used the lack of family festivities to write another chapter, and I'm happy to say Friday's will be punctual, too! </p><p>We left Theon in a state of utter turmoil the last time, now here's what comes of it. </p><p>Thank you @attaining, for your encouraging opinion!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The knock on his door has Jon bury his face in the pillow, silently screaming into it. Arya again, most likely, unable to stay away in her concern for him. It’s sweet of her, it really is, but all Jon wants for the time being is to be alone, face down on his bed and not having to explain himself for the dozenth time. Hard to explain something he doesn’t really understand himself. How is it possible that one look at that scared face could make him forget how much Father’s thrashings always hurt? Jon shifts, groaning lowly when his behind smarts. He’d regretted stepping forward immediately when Father had started. Twenty fucking lashes… and for what? </p><p>The knock comes again and Jon sighs, clambering into an upright position. He grimaces as he stiffly walks to the door, ripping it open to tell Arya for the third time that, yes, he’ll be okay, but to please leave him alone for the rest of the day. It’s getting late, she’ll miss dinner – the gently scolding words die on Jon’s lips when he sees who is standing before him. </p><p>Theon isn’t looking at him but down on the bag he’s carrying, only giving Jon a quick glance before shouldering past him. Jon slowly closes his door, suddenly tired beyond measure. He’d meant it when he said he doesn’t want to see Theon’s face for at least a moon, but he should’ve known it wouldn’t be so easy. Wearily, he watches Theon place the bag on the table, an ominous chinking sound accompanying the movement. Jon raises an eyebrow. Maybe Theon stole wine from the cellars again, but why come here with it? Why come here at all? Arya told Jon she’d seen Theon leaving the castle not an hour ago. </p><p>“I pity the lady if you’re back from Wintertown so soon,” Jon finally says when Theon doesn’t offer anything. “I’d’ve thought you’d stay longer with so much coin to your name.”</p><p>“Wasn’t,” Theon says, shrugging. His cheeks are slightly pink, his tongue is heavy. He’s drunk again, Jon thinks with growing distaste as Theon goes on. “I mean, I was in town, but not… Here, got this from my merchant.” </p><p>And with that he reaches into the bag, fishing around in it until he produces a small jar which he throws at Jon. Jon catches it, frowning as he reads the label. Marigold, arnica, hyssop, sage… </p><p>“What’s this then?” he asks, unable to make sense of it. </p><p>“A thank you. For…” Theon sways, shifts on his feet, clearly uncomfortable. “For doing what you did.” He looks up, and while it takes him a moment to focus on Jon, for once his eyes are earnest, no mocking smile in them. “Thank you, Snow. I mean it.”</p><p>It’s ridiculous, how a few drunk words can dissolve a lot of Jon’s rightful anger. He tries to hold on to it, tries to concentrate on how it had felt to receive a punishment that should have been Theon’s, tries to tell himself it’s just the alcohol… to no avail. Jon sighs, shoulders sagging in resignation. He can’t keep it up. Not with Theon showing up here to thank him, bringing him a… </p><p>“Salve,” Theon mutters. “For bruises and – ought to be better than the stuff the maester gave us when we were young and stupid and got punished every two days.”</p><p>“<em>You </em> got punished every two days,” Jon mumbles, opening the jar and sniffing the creamy content. It smells nice, of lanolin and something green, and against his will he finds himself touched even more by the gesture. The thought that Theon went into town, not to visit the brothel but to buy salve...</p><p>“Don’t gape at me like an idiot, use it,” Theon snaps when he sees Jon looking. “You must have – you’re in pain, surely?”</p><p>“Surely,” Jon echoes dryly, placing the jar on his bedside table to have his hands free to undo his breeches. He stops again immediately when Theon makes no move to leave, glaring at him. “What the fuck, Greyjoy, are you going to watch?”</p><p>“Don’t get your smallclothes in a twist,” Theon mutters, but he does turn his back on Jon. “It’s not as if I want to see the mess your arse must be.”</p><p>“Through whose fault, I wonder.” </p><p>Jon tries to get it over with quickly, but he can’t help wincing in pain at the first touch of his fingers on the heated flesh, then sighing in relief when he distributes the cool salve. He pulls his breeches back up, wiping his fingers on his sleeve. His fingertips feel strangely numb; the pain in his behind is already receding. </p><p>“Was there anything else you wanted? I’m afraid I don’t have anything left to give you, you already have everything.” </p><p>“Not that.” Theon looks as if he wants to say something else before he closes his mouth again, rummaging in his bag. He unearthes two bottles, one of them half empty already, placing them on the table. “Peace offering, Snow,” he mumbles. “Thought we’d drink to both of us being goddamn idiots, eh?”</p><p>Jon stares at him, not knowing what to do. A part of him just really wants to take one of those bottles and smash it on Theon’s head. He takes a quick step closer to the table, and his thoughts must be plain on his face. Theon stumbles back, his wary expression turning into one of utter confusion when Jon grabs the half empty bottle and puts it to his lips. He drinks and drinks, swallowing one mouthful of delicious wine after the other, only setting the bottle down when it’s empty. Jon huffs, suppressing a hiccup. He hasn’t eaten anything all day except for the handful of berries Arya had nicked from the Glass gardens in her urge to do him some good. </p><p>The wine goes to Jon’s head fast, and the bewildered expression on Theon’s face is almost funny enough to make Jon smile. </p><p>“First decent idea you had in your life,” he says, grabbing the other bottle and retreating to the bed. </p><p>It’s curious, how it doesn’t hurt at all when he sits down. All Jon feels is a slightly weird numbness, and a comfortable sensation, as if the room is softly undulating. It makes him dizzy, so he closes his eyes, leaning against the wall his bed is standing against. It feels warm from the hot water running through it, nice and cosy. Jon sighs, letting his head sink back as he takes another long draw from the second bottle. His mind is fuzzy, all the horrible thoughts and images and tensions gone that had haunted him since the day they got the news of the rebellion, since the day he took that stupid pledge… Jon drinks again, marvelling at the warmth pooling in his stomach. This was the trick all along, to feel relaxed? Alcohol?</p><p>Someone coughs, and suddenly Jon remembers Theon is still here. He opens his eyes, frowning when he sees him still standing by the table, a strange look on his face. </p><p>“What,” Jon says, surprised when his tongue stumbles over the word. “No drink, Greyj-joy?”</p><p>Theon snorts, but he does come over, prying the bottle from Jon’s unyielding fingers. He sits on the edge of the bed, gulping down a huge amount before wiping his mouth. </p><p>“What now, Snow?” he asks, taking Jon’s fingers and wrapping them around the bottle. </p><p>Jon drinks. It’s hard to form a clear thought, what with the lovely haze clouding his mind. It’s just like the few times the three of them did this together, and suddenly, fervently, Jon wishes Robb were here, to mediate between them like he used to, to tell Jon what to do. He’d have been so much better at this, his easy friendship with Theon paving the way for a different kind of relationship, one between charge and guardian. Theon wouldn’t have loathed it so much if it had been Robb. Theon would behave better for Robb. It isn’t a nice thought, only accentuating Jon’s inadequacy. He frowns, drinks again before pushing the bottle at Theon. </p><p>“‘m sorry,” he says miserably. “Sorry it’s me.”</p><p>“What the fuck, Snow…” Theon sounds as drowsy as Jon feels, skidding up the bed until he’s sitting next to him. “No idea what you’re babbling on about.”</p><p>“Whole thing…” Jon waves his hand in an all-encompassing gesture. “Sorry it’s me.”</p><p>“Drowned fuck…” Theon slaps a hand against his face. “Can’t believe I’m saying that, and <em> don’t </em>ever expect me to repeat it.” He turns his head, peering into Jon’s eyes. “I could’ve done worse than with you.”</p><p>To Jon’s drunken mind it sounds like the nicest thing Theon ever said to him. It suddenly seems like all the fights, all the struggles and uncertainties have vanished. And even though he feels ridiculous with tears of relief pricking at his eyes, Jon smiles, the first real smile in what feels like weeks. Something flickers over Theon’s face, gone again too quickly for Jon to make out. And somehow it seems natural when Theon’s hand comes up, fingers hesitantly wrapping around Jon’s chin. His eyes are very light, the lightest blue streaked with ribbons of gold. </p><p>“I don’t know who I am anymore,” he says, unsure, as if he’s already said too much. “No family, no one I belong to – except you.” </p><p>Jon’s eyes fall shut as Theon’s lips graze his, as Theon’s fingers stroke his cheek, his hair. He tastes of wine, and a part of Jon whispers in his mind that the wine is the cause of this, that nothing would happen without it. He ignores it. It <em> is </em> happening, and for once he wants to forget about the what ifs, wants to forget about all the things that stand between them, wants to just drink in this sense of peace. Whatever it is Theon wants this time… and want something he must, Jon knows that even in his drunk state. His stomach is churning, his skin feeling hot as he opens his mouth. The kiss deepens immediately, Theon’s hand driving into Jon’s hair as he gently licks into Jon’s mouth. </p><p>It feels incredible, this first real kiss of Jon’s entire life. His hands come up on their own accord, moving from Theon’s chest over his shoulders and wrapping around his neck. Jon’s fingers tangle in the hair on Theon’s nape, and a part of him notes that it has grown longer since… Theon gasps, one hand snaking around Jon’s waist. He pulls him close, turning the kiss into many small kisses, he sucks on Jon’s bottom lip, outlines it with the tip if his tongue. Dizzily, Jon lets himself be pushed into the furs, relishing the feeling of Theon’s weight above him, the feeling of his hand stroking down his ribs and under his tunic. </p><p>Theon’s fingers are cool against Jon’s heated skin, turning it into gooseflesh wherever they touch him. He can feel Theon, can feel his hard length against his thigh, pushing into him. Jon’s body reacts too, in ways that would make him feel ashamed if he were sober, that would horrify him beyond anything with the implications. The alcohol has rendered all of this unimportant, and the tiny voice of guilt in Jon’s head is drowned as he presses himself against Theon’s body, as he lets go of all inhibitions and spends with a groan swallowed by Theon’s mouth. </p><p>“Snow,” Theon murmurs, kissing Jon once again. “You can’t leave me, Snow, no matter what. You’re all I have left.”</p><p>He pushes down against Jon, stiffens, groans – then he slumps down, to the side, his hand still under Jon’s tunic, on his naked chest. Jon’s heart is beating fast. He keeps his fingers tangled in Theon’s hair, softly sifting through the strands. His eyes are heavy, his mind clouding. Tomorrow, he knows, he’ll have to deal with all of this. His physical attraction to Theon, despite their non-relationship… he’s Jon’s charge, it should feel so wrong… it will, on the morrow. For now Jon doesn’t want to think, closing his eyes. For now there’s peace. </p><p>When he wakes up the sun has already risen, and he’s alone. Theon is gone. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thoughts? Comments? Questions?<br/>I know I'm asking the same thing every time, I just love comments so much lol<br/>Thank you, everyone, for reading and subscribing and kudoing and commenting. It means so much! </p><p>Up next: Jon dissolves in a puddle of guilt.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Good morning from Vienna! I hope you're all doing ok! </p><p>Alright, Jon... go and drown in guilt!<br/>(gentle warning for canon-typical internalized homophobic thoughts)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Reality hasn’t yet filtered back when Jon extends a hand, touching the furs where another body had lain. They’re cold, as if it had never happened, as if it had been nothing but a strange, improbable dream. It’s enticing, to remain in this dream-like state, but reality comes back with a vengeance. It comes with pain, in Jon’s backside, his buttocks feeling swollen and tender and stiff. He turns to the side, and the movement draws attention to other sensations, an uncomfortable dry feeling of his smallclothes sticking to his skin. For a heartbeat Jon almost smiles, images from how that had happened appearing in his mind, of cool hands and warm lips… </p><p>It’s like the whole castle is tumbling down on Jon’s head when it suddenly registers, what they have done – what <em> he </em> has done. Words circle in his mind like crows, words like bastard, bad blood, deviant, wrong… Wrong. Jon’s hands claw into the furs as the impossible truth can’t be ignored any longer. It’s in his blood, unquenchable, inescapable, lured to the surface by just one kiss… from a man. A man Jon doesn’t even like, who had never liked <em> him</em>, a man he’s responsible for – another wave of guilt has Jon curl in on himself, gasping for air. Theon is his charge, his to protect and care for. What Jon has done, what he let Theon do to him… </p><p>Jon presses his heated face into the furs, where a hint of the familiar scent still lingers, setting his nerves alight. It feels like cruel irony, to finally know what it’s like to burn and want, without fear of fathering another bastard, to let his body have what he denied it for so long, to finally experience the closeness he always yearned for and yet knew wasn’t for him… and it has to be <em> Theon</em>. It has to be <em> now</em>, when there are ties between them that forbid any different kind of relationship than that of guardian and charge. It goes against everything Jon pledged. </p><p><em> Will you pledge not to abuse your guardianship in a way that might bring your charge dishonour… </em> </p><p>It <em> is </em> dishonourable for a man to lay with another man. And yet it had been Theon who started it, who had kissed Jon and touched him and done things to him… Jon shudders at the memory, tries to suppress it, tries to tell himself he could never have wanted it, had been surprised – it’s impossible, a shameless lie. He wanted it. Wants it still, even with a sober mind and the weight of their pledge bearing down on him. He wants to have it again, Theon’s hands on him, Theon’s mouth on his – he wants more. </p><p>The thought is shocking, blindsiding, but once it has taken hold Jon can’t get rid of it again. He wants more. The images crowding his mind are hazy, vague, only what Jon can put together from having been forced to listen to Theon’s crude tales time and again. There are ways… Jon’s body reacts violently to the vision of Theon having him like that, of having <em> Theon</em>, here in his bed, in his furs – Jon writhes, groans through gritted teeth, desperate to stop the thoughts from coming. It isn’t possible. He’s a horrible excuse of a guardian to even think of it. He can’t ever have this, can’t abuse the pledge he took. </p><p>And yet… he wants it so much. Anything, everything. Jon sniffs, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. If there was a way, any way, he’d take it – if Theon even wants it. The thought catches Jon cold. What if it had only been the wine, a passing fancy, just a reaction to the situation? <em> You can’t leave me. </em> Jon’s heart clenches at the memory of Theon’s words, of his eyes, so sad and lonely. <em> You’re all I have left. </em>It seems too honest a thing for Theon to say, too vulnerable, too soft. What if it’s still nothing but an attempt to get what Theon wants, to have a shred of control over the situation – over Jon. </p><p>The thought is disheartening, and still… Jon understands. It must be terrible for someone like Theon, to be forced to obey a person so far beneath him, to answer to the bastard. The <em> Stark </em> bastard, of all people. It’d be understandable if he’d wanted to gain the upper hand in at least one regard. He’s so much more experienced than Jon, it makes sense for him to take the lead in this. But what if… Jon sits up quickly, ignoring the dull, throbbing pain in his bruised behind. There it is, the way he wanted, a way to make it work. He quickly undresses, scrubs his flesh raw to eliminate all visible traces of the last night before he slips into new clothes. </p><p>He can’t ever ask for it, can’t ever start anything himself. The pledge forbids it, and Jon could never bear to abuse the authority he has over Theon. But if Theon wants it… there’s no reason to say no. And if it helps him come to terms with their situation, if it helps him to have a sense of control… so be it. </p><p>As for now, they need to talk. Somehow, Jon thinks, he should convey to Theon that it’s alright, that it wasn’t just the alcohol that made Jon pliable to… Jon’s face feels hot as he walks out of his room to knock on Theon’s door. He’s got no idea how to start a conversation like that. There is no answer, and Jon knocks again, louder. It’s early, and Theon should be still in bed – if he even went to bed, after leaving Jon’s chamber sometime during the night. There’s a strange feeling gnawing at Jon, getting worse the longer he stands there, and finally he tries the handle. The door swings open, revealing an empty room. Theon isn’t there. </p><p>Jon takes a reluctant step inside, guilt rising in him for this breach of Theon’s privacy. His eyes are drawn by the huge chest at the foot of Theon’s unmade bed. It’s standing open, and Jon walks closer, peering inside. The gnawing feeling in his stomach turns to horror when he looks at the content of the chest. There’s not much left, only a few items of clothing. All of Theon’s kraken-adorned clothes are gone. Jon stumbles as he realizes the meaning of this. He turns on his heel, quickly walking down the corridor. He hastens his steps, almost running towards the stables. Jon barges in, startling two hands occupied with mucking out the boxes. </p><p>“Have you seen – is there – did anyone leave the castle?” Jon asks, out of breath. </p><p>One of the boys nods, confirming Jon’s fears. “Aye, we saddled a horse for Lord Greyjoy a couple hours ago. Are you alright?” he asks worriedly. “You’re awfully pale.” </p><p>“I’m – it’s alright. Thank you.” </p><p>Jon slowly turns away. His thoughts are going haywire; his guts are a tight knot of dread. This is it, then. Theon is gone. Has packed his belongings and has bolted, without a word, without a concern for anything in the world but himself. Jon’s feet are heavy, as if filled with lead. He doesn’t pay any mind to where they take him, but it isn’t much of a surprise when he finds himself in the godswood. Where else would a condemned man go? And condemned he is. Theon has bailed, has left without Jon’s permission to do so. The punishment for desertion is death. </p><p>The heart tree blurs as Jon’s eyes fill with tears. He stumbles forward, placing both hands on the tree and leaning his forehead against the rough, white bark. <em> Please, </em> he thinks, prays, <em> please help me. </em>There is no answer, and after a while Jon gives up. He turns, sinks to the ground between the roots of the tree. His insides feel hollow, empty. He’d never thought it’d come to this, had never thought Theon to be so ignorant, not on this level. He must’ve known what his disappearance means for Jon, he must. And chose to ignore it all the same. </p><p>Jon doesn’t know how long he sits there, blankly staring ahead, his body numb and stiff. A million different thoughts go through his head. Robb, still held up in Riverrun, without knowing what is happening here. Arya, Sansa, Bran, Rickon… Father’s face appears before Jon, how it will look when he learns what has happened, when he understands what the consequences are. Will he be as quick to follow the law as he’d been with Theon? Or will he find excuses, a way out for his bastard son? It’s getting cold, and Jon shivers. There’s something else… a stinging in his heart, as if it’s about to give out. After everything Theon had said, had done… </p><p>Jon wonders, if there’s anything he could have done, should have done differently to make Theon stay. He comes up empty-handed. He tried… and failed. </p><p>“There you are, Snow. Care to tell me why you’re hiding away here?”</p><p>Jon’s head snaps up; he stares at the figure before him in disbelief. Theon grins, standing there as if nothing is wrong, as if he hadn’t – he’s here. Jon slowly clambers to his feet, not taking his eyes off Theon for a single moment. </p><p>“Where have you been?” he asks, the words coming out hoarse and raw. “Where the <em> fuck </em> have you been?”</p><p>“For a ride,” Theon says casually, cocking one eyebrow. “What’s wrong with you, man? You look–”</p><p>“Why didn’t you ask...” It’s hard to speak, to gather enough breath. “You didn’t–”</p><p>“As if.” Theon sneers, shrugging lightly. “You ought to know by now that I won’t–”</p><p>“<em>I thought you were gone,” </em>Jon hisses through his teeth, red spots dancing before his eyes. “I thought–”</p><p>“Drowned fuck, aren’t you a tad dramatic?” Theon tsks, shakes his head in a mocking gesture. “‘s not as if anything happened. I’m here, aye?”</p><p>Something in Jon snaps. All the tension, all the fears choking him since he’d seen Theon’s belongings gone overflow and boil to the surface. With one step Jon is right before him, his hand closing around Theon’s wrist in an iron hold. Theon protests, stumbling behind as Jon drags him along, out of the godswood and over the yard into the Inner Keep. The small chamber is next to Father’s solar, always unlocked. No one would dare to come here without permission, but in this moment Jon doesn’t care. He rips the door open, pushing Theon through. </p><p>He’s stopped struggling against Jon’s grip, looking at him with something like distress. Theon knows where they are, knows this place well. It’s been him coming here most often, doing his duty towards Lord Stark. Now he just stands there, staring at Jon as if seeing a ghost. His throat is working. </p><p>“What the fuck, Snow… this isn’t the place I’d choose for privacy.” </p><p>Theon smiles, an uncertain twitch of his mouth, but that’s all it takes. Jon rips the greatsword from its mounting, his hand dropping with the weight. He feels strange, detached, as if he’s going crazy. But this is what needs to be done. </p><p>Theon’s smile vanishes as Jon pulls Ice from its sheath. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Drama, drama, drama...</p><p>Next up: Theon POV!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Good morning! </p><p>I do hope you're all okay! I'm looking at two more months staying at home and am feeling a little crazy – but more time to write! </p><p> </p><p>I feel I should write a bit of a WARNING. The end of this chapter does look a bit like dub con if you squint, but I promise that's only because we're in Theon's POV!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The shock is permeating Theon to his very bones; when Snow draws the greatsword he jerks back involuntarily. This is what his nightmares were about since he came to Winterfell as a boy, that dark, massive sword drawn at him, coming <em> for him</em>. He’d always hated having to carry it, the steel always seeming to burn through the scabbard, calling for him. One wrong move and Lord Stark might change his mind, turn to Theon instead of whoever was at his feet in that moment – and now it’s right before him, not in Lord Stark’s hands but his bastard’s. The similarities between them are eerie, the long face, the dark hair and eyes – no, Theon thinks, the eyes are different. Where Lord Stark’s eyes are always cool and indifferent, Snow’s eyes are sparkling with rage. </p><p>Theon doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know how it could have come to this. He hasn’t done anything – nothing but taking an unauthorized ride through the wolfswood. No bad intentions, nothing but a means to clear his head from the cobwebs and the strange desire to continue what he’d started last night. Snow had been so different then, under the influence of the wine, had surprised Theon with his sweet compliance… and sweet it had been, all of it, Snow’s mouth, his eagerness... that fucking smile that had changed his whole face. </p><p>There’s no hint of it now, and Theon flinches hard when Snow moves. He doesn’t raise the sword, though, doesn’t come at Theon with it – he holds it out. Theon stares, as Snow props the blade up on his arm, the hilt in his open palm. Snow is trembling, the strain of holding the weapon up making droplets of sweat bead on his forehead. </p><p>“Take it,”  Snow hisses, “take it before I change my mind!” </p><p>Theon only hesitates for one more heartbeat before his fingers close around the grip. The weight is familiar, he’s used to it – but not to touching the naked steel. It’s cold, fittingly, a soft singing sound coming from it as Theon holds it upright. It feels like the worst of sins, the ultimate sacrilege, to lay hand on Eddard Stark’s greatsword. And yet it feels... Theon swallows, eyes rising to take in the length of it. It feels good, to be the one holding the hilt, to be the one on this end of the blade. His gaze flits to Snow; he wants to know the purpose of this – Theon gasps when he sees him slowly going down on his knees. </p><p>“Is this what you want? For me to end up like this?” Snow’s eyes are dark in his white face, narrow and pained. “Here is your chance then, Greyjoy, your chance to end it. Go ahead, do it!” His mouth twists, his eyes narrow. “Do it yourself, you ignorant fuck, before my own father has to!” </p><p>The notion comes fast, violent, to just raise the sword – it’s gone again in a flash, leaving nothing but a sour taste in his mouth as realization takes over Theon’s mind. <em> I thought you were gone. </em> Snow thought – Theon swallows, something like guilt rising in his chest. To Snow, after what happened, it must’ve looked like it. And it’s not as if it hasn’t crossed Theon’s mind, mayhaps a hundred times since he’d been taken to a cell by Winterfell’s men. Escape… take a horse and flee, impossible at the time. No longer impossible after the pledge, with Snow as his reserved guardian. To leave this place, to leave the bastard and their bond behind… an enticing thought. </p><p>But he’d never have acted on it. Theon knows he’s not cut out for a life on the run, forever fleeing from Winterfell’s – from the <em> king’s </em> justice, never able to trust anyone, no security, no comfort – there’s nowhere to go. No one to take him in. No… staying is the best choice Theon has, as miserable as that is. But Snow can’t know that. He’s got no possibility to see inside Theon’s head, no matter how empathic he seemed these last weeks. To him it must’ve seemed like desertion, and the punishment for desertion… </p><p>“What the fuck are you waiting for?”</p><p>Theon’s gaze snaps back to Snow, kneeling at his feet. The anger is gone from his voice entirely, replaced by tiredness and resignation, and Theon’s stomach churns. Snow must’ve thought about it all day, what would happen to him if Theon had truly deserted. He probably went around like he was already walking to the block, working himself up into despair… Theon looks at him, at his bowed head, neck exposed, his hair falling forward and hiding his face – and then Snow looks up, and the pain showing plainly on his features is too much to bear all of a sudden. </p><p>“Get up.”</p><p>Ice clatters to the floor as Theon takes a step forward. The decision isn’t an easy one, might be the hardest he ever had to make, but right now there is no other way. Theon reaches out, pulling Snow to his feet when he doesn’t comply fast enough. His dark eyes are wide, startled, seeming deep enough to stare into Theon’s soul as he finally surrenders.</p><p>“Alright,” he mumbles, “alright, you win. I won’t – I’m not going to disobey you any longer. I accept, Snow. Do you hear me? I accept. You’re the – you’re my guardian.”</p><p>It feels like giving up the last part that was still himself, that tiny, defiant part deep inside Theon that he now yields to Snow. It makes Theon feel raw inside, hollowed out. He swallows against the lump in his throat, fighting the urge to take it back, to scream into the bastard’s face that he’ll never own Theon, will never turn him into a meek, obedient bitch. His hands are grappling at Snow’s clothes, seeking for purchase, partly to shove him away, partly to keep steady.</p><p>And Snow stands so very still, looking at Theon with cautious hope. His face has softened, and suddenly he reaches out, pulling the chain with the token from beneath Theon’s tunic. Snow looks up, tugging until the chain is stretched between them, like a leash binding Theon to him. </p><p>“It’s not blind obedience I want,” he murmurs as he takes the tiny canine in hand, cradling it in his palm before he lets go again, releasing Theon from his grip. “I don’t want you to grovel and say what you think I want to hear. What I want from you is nothing but consideration. Tell me when you leave. It’s not about me wishing to humiliate you, it’s about… We’re in this together, Theon. You have to stop fighting me.”</p><p>Stop fighting Snow… but what’s left of them when this is gone? Theon studies Snow’s face, an earnest, pleading look on it, and suddenly he knows what to do, knows how to keep going. Snow is right, he can’t fight him any longer – but he can choose a different kind of fight. The only kind where he still has an advantage, the only kind he can still win. His grip on Snow changes, becomes gentler, more purposeful. Snow looks down on Theon’s hands, and when he glances up again his eyes are dark, questioning. Theon pulls him in. </p><p>He applies all his skill, using his lips and tongue like weapons, aiming at the sole remaining target: being the one in control. Theon kisses Snow as if it was his last chance, licks, bites, sucks at his plump lips until Snow makes a low noise deep in his throat. He melts against Theon, doesn’t protest when his breeches are untied, when Theon shoves them down. Theon finds him ready and hard, and Snow gasps, pushing into Theon’s hand as eager as any green boy would. Theon grins against Snow’s mouth. This is what he’s good at, what no one can take from him. This is where he leads, where he calls the shots – this is how he can feel like himself again. </p><p>Theon moves his hands to Snow’s backside, swallowing the protesting noise he gets. A part of him notices how good it feels, how perfectly the pert, round globes nestle into his palms. So much the better… gaining mastery over the bastard won’t be a hardship. Snow is pretty enough, athirst for these new pleasures, wax in Theon’s skilled hands. Theon lungs at Snow once more, a hard, bruising kiss, before he spins him around, pushing him against the wall. Snow moans as Theon’s hand snakes around his waist and wraps around his prick, the sound sending shivers of arousal down Theon’s spine. </p><p>And then the bastard inhales sharply when Theon moves his other hand between his cheeks, he jolts away but has nowhere to go, not with Theon crowding him against the wall, not with Theon’s hand on his prick. Snow’s arse is soft, untouched, and suddenly Theon can barely hold himself back anymore. He wants him, wants to be the one to do this to Snow, wants to possess him as much as show him who is the one <em> truly </em> in charge. </p><p>“Tell you what, Snow,” he whispers into the bastard’s neck, gratified when the tiny hairs bristle under his breath. “You think you own me? I’ll show you…”</p><p>“What – Theon, you–</p><p>Snow hisses, weakly struggling against Theon’s hold. Theon smiles before he bites down on Snow’s neck, earning a muffled cry. He removes his hand from Snow’s arse, spitting on his fingers before bringing them back. Snow yelps, his body stiffening when Theon touches him. </p><p>“You can’t just – Theon, this – gods, not–”</p><p>Theon tightens his hold, making Snow gasp. “Order me then,” he whispers. “I’ll stop if you tell me to… come on, Snow… order me to stop.”</p><p>And with that he pushes into him, and Snow cries out – but he doesn’t say a single word.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Next we're back in Jon's head and while he's not really knowing what he got himself into, he's definitely not dubious about wanting whatever Theon has in store for him there. Pure stubbornness. </p><p>Thoughts? Questions? I loved all your comments on the last chapter with the overall consensus of OMG Jon chill!! XD</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I can't believe it's Friday again 😶 </p><p>In other news – I mapped out the rest of the chapters and so far we have 35. I can't promise I won't add to that in between, but that's the plan.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There is no fight. Jon goes through the motions, resisting just so much, struggling just enough for Theon to feel like the victor in their sparring. It’s hard to keep his head in the game, to remember why he’s doing this. Theon’s hands and mouth are doing things to him Jon couldn’t have imagined if he tried. To have someone else touch him, a different hand than his own on his prick… The shock when Theon touches <em> other </em> parts is real, but followed by such a violent rush of heat it’s all Jon can do to stay upright, even with Theon pushing him into the wall. </p><p>They’re about to – next to Father’s solar – for a moment Jon genuinely panics; if they’re found, in <em> this </em> position, Theon trapping Jon like this, with his breeches down – and then all thoughts evaporate as Theon’s fingers return, wet and insistent. Jon’s buttocks still hurt at every touch but it’s easy enough to ignore when – <em> Order me, </em> Theon says, and Jon bites his lip to prevent any word from coming out. But he can’t stop the cry ripping from his throat when his – when Theon – Jon gasps, open-mouthed. It doesn’t hurt, not really, more of a discomfort than actual pain. This he can withstand, if it means Theon will keep stroking him in tune with the thrusts of his finger – fingers, two, and for a second it almost hurts when – <em> there!!! </em></p><p>At first it’s just a shock, a deep pressure that seems to come from a different place entirely, but then Theon finds it again and Jon’s forehead hits the wall, his fingers trying to claw into the stone. There’s a strange sound coming from somewhere, like a whimper – heat floods Jon when he realizes it’s coming from himself. Theon laughs, doesn’t stop, and Jon screws his eyes shut as the waves of pleasure threaten to drown him. </p><p>
  <em> Not yet, not yet, not – gods help me!  </em>
</p><p>“See what I can do, Snow?” Theon mumbles behind Jon, his voice smug and syrupy. “It’s me doing this to you, no one else could ever – fuck, you look so pretty like this, under <em> my </em> hands – <em> fuck</em>…”</p><p>Jon shivers, emitting a startled yelp when Theon’s fingers leave him. He’s nearly there, can feel it waiting just out of reach, only one more stroke, one more touch – Jon stiffens when suddenly there’s something different, something bigger – and <em> then </em>it hurts. Too big, too much, but there’s no way to escape, nothing but naked stone and Theon’s hand wrapped tightly around Jon’s wilting hardness. Theon keeps going, doesn’t stop, his groans ridiculously loud in Jon’s ear. Gods be good but it hurts… Jon swallows, trying to fight back the tears coming into his eyes as he’s invaded; he bites down hard on his arm to stifle a scream. </p><p>Finally Theon comes to a stop, panting hot breath against Jon’s neck. He keeps still, his only movement the quivers running through him and into Jon where they are connected. </p><p>“Breathe, Snow,” he murmurs, “that’s it, there’s a good – fuck, you feel – drowned – I need to move, I can’t–” </p><p>But he doesn’t, only wraps his arm around Jon’s waist, pulling him impossibly closer. His fingers sneak under Jon’s tunic, stroking his stomach, up to his chest, circling a nipple, almost gentle, and Jon breathes. In and out, and with every breath it becomes more bearable, the burning turning to a dull throbbing in his behind. Theon mouths at Jon’s nape, sucking the skin between his lips, fingers wrapped around his prick, and a shiver runs down Jon’s spine as he gets hard again. </p><p>“Theon…” he whispers, not knowing what he wants to say, what he wants from him. </p><p>Theon knows. He buries his nose in Jon’s hair – and pulls out. For a moment it’s almost as bad as when he – but then he does it again, and this time it feels… Jon groans, amazed by the complete absence of pain, startled by the intensity – it’s as if he can feel Theon everywhere in his body, in him, around him, his moans ringing in Jon’s ears, his hot, damp breath on his skin. </p><p>“Yessss,” Theon hisses, gripping Jon’s waist and holding him in place as he quickens his thrusts. “Drowned God – you’re – that’s it, Snow, that’s – just – <em> yes!</em>” </p><p>The tension mounts into the unbearable and Jon’s prick twitches in Theon’s hand, stars bursting before his eyes and Jon almost sobs as everything peaks and his mind explodes. Theon behind Jon stills, pushing in as deep as feels possible before he groans, stiffens. When the rush is over Jon feels boneless, exhausted. A strange something is tugging at his stomach and suddenly he just wants to turn around, lean against Theon. Let him have his control, for now. But Theon isn’t moving, still holds onto Jon. </p><p>“Knew you would be like this,” he drawls, moving his hand to Jon’s throat, fingers splaying out. “A decent cock up your arse and all your honourable Stark demeanour vanishes… must be your mother’s heritage, eh?” </p><p>A tremble runs through Jon; he’s still wrapped around Theon, warm seed running down his thighs. It’s starting to feel uncomfortable. The strange feeling has magnified at Theon’s words, making Jon’s chest tighten achingly. He wishes he could just go – but Theon isn’t done yet.</p><p>“I want you to think of this,” Theon whispers, “whenever I come to ask for your permission for something, whenever you give me an <em> order</em>.” He nips at Jon’s ear, chuckles. “The world may think I’m your bitch, but you know the truth. We both do. You’re <em> my </em> bitch now, my lord bastard. And I’m going to enjoy that – you – very much.” </p><p>Jon doesn’t reply. He got what he wanted, hasn’t he? Theon promised to at least keep up appearances, has agreed to keep his part of the pledge. When Theon finally steps away he leaves Jon feeling sore and peculiar. He pulls his breeches back up, unable to look at Theon. It seems stupid, after getting everything he wanted. A promise, more touches, a few kisses, he even got – there’s no reason to feel so strange, none at all. </p><p>“What’s the problem <em> now</em>, Snow?” </p><p>The tone of Theon’s voice is half mocking, half exasperated. Jon shrugs, keeping his gaze on the floor. </p><p>“Put the sword back where it belongs,” he finally says. “I’m tired, I should – see you around, Greyjoy.” </p><p>He can feel Theon’s gaze following him out of the door, confused and slightly peeved. Jon concentrates on walking normally with all his might, every step sending an uncomfortable quake through his body. He wonders how long this will last, how long until he feels normal again. The weird feeling in his chest Jon can’t place is back, like a bubble growing bigger and bigger, cutting off his air and dislodging his heart. Jon slows his steps when he hears footsteps coming closer. Is it visible? Will they look at him and know what he did – will Father know? Will he be able to tell his bastard son has given in to the call of his tainted blood? Will Father hate him? Be ashamed even more than he already is? </p><p>It isn’t Father. It’s the septa, giving Jon a scrutinizing gaze as she walks past with a nod. Jon tries to smile at her, but it slides off his face like water off a duck’s feathers. Jon tries to get it back, to no avail. It makes his face hurt, and he feels weak with relief when he finally reaches the safe haven of his chambers. Jon closes the door, locks it, slowly walks over to his bed where he sits down, hissing when a stab shoots through his rear. And that, somehow, is all it takes. Jon slumps forward, into his pillows, burying his face in them. He feels ridiculous, the bubble in his chest swelling until he can’t breathe anymore. </p><p>He should feel <em> good</em>! He should feel like he won, Theon’s compliance, Theon’s attention. He <em> wanted </em> it! And yet… somehow, now that it’s over, it seems so different to what Jon had pictured in his mind, of being with Theon here, in his bed. Having him naked, kissing him, be kissed, be touched – and what had he gotten instead? Instead Jon had been fucked against a wall with his breeches around his ankles like a common whore. Jon swears when the tears start to seep into the pillow. What the fuck was he even thinking? As if Theon would have – stupid to even <em> think </em> he’d – Jon groans, feeling like the biggest idiot ever. </p><p>Aye, he wanted him, but not like <em> that. </em> The thought is so ludicrous Jon wants to laugh, instead dissolving in another wave of tears. To think he ever believed for even a moment that such a thing was possible with Theon Greyjoy… Who will never think of Jon as anything but the bastard he needs to answer to, someone so far beneath him he’s good for nothing but a quick fuck in between – Jon does laugh then, desperate and hollow. There’s nothing to do about it. He’s a bastard, shameless and wanton. </p><p>And because of Theon he’ll never be anything else for the rest of his life.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Something will give soon – or someone. But who? 😬 </p><p>Thank you all for your continuous enthusiasm for this story, without it and your lovely encouragement I might go crazy. Hope you're all doing good!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Chapter 17</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Good morning! Is it still 2020? </p><p>Jon is every teenager ever. I haven't specified it yet, but I imagine him to be around 18-19 years old in this verse. Which would make Theon 23-24 as per book canon, 20-21 as per show canon. Whichever you prefer :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jon wishes he could just stay in bed. His eyes feel puffy and swollen, and judging from his reflection in the water bowl he looks like something you’d find under a stone. A part of Jon wishes he could borrow Sansa’s bronze mirror, one of her most prized possessions, but he dismisses the thought. He doesn’t want to go out like that. Maybe he should just say he’s sick – if anyone even notices his absence. It’s not that much of a lie anyway; his rear is still feeling peculiar whenever he moves, and on top of that his head hurts like all seven hells. </p><p>Jon turns to the side, suppressing the urge to touch himself <em> there</em>. For a moment he ponders using the salve Theon brought him, but then mayhaps it wouldn’t be wise to numb this particular part. The thought of Theon is uncomfortable too, smug grin and glittering eyes – Jon huffs, dragging a pillow over his head. Another reason not to go out today. He doesn’t know what he’d do upon seeing him. Strangle him, maybe. Or see if he’d be up to – Jon mumbles expletives under his breath that would get him a very stern talking-to if he’d say them in company. </p><p>It’s unbelievable! He’s sore, he feels horrible – horrible enough to hide in his room – and yet. And yet there’s a small part of him that still wants. Not like yesterday, but… some of the things he’d liked. After it had stopped hurting so much it had felt… good. And judging from what Theon had said – but that had probably been from the heat of the moment. Jon rolls his eyes at himself. Here he is, with a throbbing headache and an uncomfortable puckering in his behind – worrying if <em> Theon </em>enjoyed himself! </p><p>And what if? What if he did enjoy it, what if he wants it again? Jon doesn’t think he’d say no, but the thought of being fucked in hidden corners like the most common of whores, with Theon hissing insults in his ear… It’s enough to make the tears flow again, while at the same time sending a rush of heat through his body. Jon groans, biting down on his hand. What the fuck is <em> wrong </em> with him? Is it really rooted so deep inside him, the need for carnal pleasure? It’s what they say of bastards, but Jon had always been so sure he’s different, better. The thought that all was for naught, all the striving for honour, all the denial and forgoing of those things… rendered meaningless in the blink of an eye. </p><p>The rest of the day goes past with more nonsensical musings like this, agonizing and leading nowhere. Sometimes Jon dozes off, sometimes he paces around the room, his thoughts going haywire. Around midday Arya comes around to inquire after him. Jon sends her away, not even opening the door. He feels bad for it, guilty for neglecting her. He’s been doing that a lot since the whole mess had started, and he promises himself he’ll make it up to her. But not today. She doesn’t sound angry, only worried, which isn’t lessening the guilt. But at the moment the prospect of pretending to be fine is just too much. </p><p>Come evening Jon starts to feel better, hungry. The thought of food had been nauseating throughout the day, but now his stomach starts to growl. It’s already getting dark, soon the family will retire from the Great Hall. Maybe he could sneak down, Jon thinks, see if there are leftovers in the kitchens. The cook won’t be there anymore, only a few of the kitchen maids, and they don’t ask questions. Jon slips on a clean pair of breeches – the ones he wore yesterday he’d stuffed under the bed – and goes to open the door. </p><p>And immediately wants to slam it shut again. Theon is leaning against the frame, one hand raised as if he’d been about to knock. At first he looks startled too, but then he starts to grin. Jon wants to punch him in the face. He also wants to hide from his mocking gaze, he wants to grab his hair and – heat rising in his cheeks, Jon takes a step back to keep himself from doing any of these things. </p><p>“You have my permission to go to town,” he blurts out, wanting nothing than be rid of Theon as quickly as possible. </p><p>“What – I’m not going to town,” Theon says, cocking an eyebrow. “You look like shite, Snow.”</p><p>“Then why are you here?” Jon asks, gripping the hem of his tunic so he doesn’t start plucking at his hair. </p><p>“To fend off the demon in the guise of your sister.”</p><p><em> What?? </em> Jon stares at Theon in confusion. Finally he sighs, bending down and picking up a bowl Jon hadn’t seen.</p><p>“Here I am, your faithful servant.” </p><p>And with that he shoulders Jon aside and marches into the room, placing the bowl on the table. It’s covered with a cloth that Theon removes with great flourish, revealing half a cooked chicken and a small loaf of bread. It smells good, but Jon isn’t hungry anymore. Not with Theon in here, looking at him with that weird expression Jon can’t make out. </p><p>“Eat, Snow,” Theon says, sitting down on Jon’s only chair. “The little beast pestered me for hours to do this. Followed me around the castle like a very angry shadow, promising me murder if I didn’t get you something to eat. <em> Whatever it is, I bet it’s your fault,” </em>Theon says in a high-pitched voice before he sighs. “For fuck’s sake, Snow! Sit down and eat.”</p><p>“I’d rather stand,” Jon says stiffly. “And I’m not hungry.”</p><p>Something flickers over Theon’s face, a mix between smugness and what Jon would have called concern if it were anyone else than Theon. </p><p>“You’re not – I didn’t – are you very sore?” </p><p>The rush of heat comes unexpected, almost making Jon stagger. Theon isn’t looking at him, his cheeks a faint pink as he picks up the loaf of bread and starts plucking at it. </p><p>“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he mumbles, giving a half-shrug. </p><p>“You didn’t. Not like… not with that.” Jon bites his lip, wishing nothing more than for Theon to vanish before he can say anything he’ll regret. “I’m fine. You should go, Greyjoy. Thanks for the…” </p><p>Jon gesticulates at the table, relieved when Theon gets to his feet. At the door he turns back, and now he does look at Jon, his eyes almost grey in the dim light. Jon looks back, a shudder running down his spine. The air is heavy; maybe he should say something, tell Theon it’s okay, nothing happened… Jon opens his mouth, and Theon comes at him. </p><p>His hand tangles in Jon’s hair, wraps around the back of his head as Theon pulls him in. His mouth is hot, wet, insistent. There’s no chance fighting this, and Jon feels himself go slack against Theon’s chest as he lets himself be devoured. This feels much like that time when they had been drinking, dizzy and overwhelming, but this time it isn’t from the wine. Theon’s hand slips under Jon’s tunic, tugging it loose. He breaks the kiss just long enough to pull it over Jon’s head before he moves back in. The air on his naked skin makes Jon shiver, and Theon pulls him closer. </p><p>“I won’t hurt you, Snow,” he mumbles against Jon’s mouth, and something tense in Jon’s stomach loosens at the words. </p><p>His hands start to move, to the front of Theon’s doublet, always dressed so warm, even in summer, and start to undo the buttons, one after the other. He doesn’t notice Theon moving them until the back of Jon’s legs hit the side of the bed.</p><p>“Lay down,” Theon says, and Jon does. </p><p>He scoots back on the bed, propped on his arms as he watches Theon slip out of his doublet, pulling his tunic over his head and throwing it aside. He kneels on the bed, bracketing Jon’s legs. The flames in the fireplace send warm light and shadows dancing over Theon’s skin. The necklace is glinting on Theon’s chest, and Jon’s heart aches with something he can’t name. He always thought Theon to be handsome, not in the blatant in-your-face way like Robb with his bright blue eyes and his smile as warm as the sun, but in a harsher, more enticing way. A lock of hair falls into Theon’s face as he slowly crawls nearer, his sharp features highlighted by the flames – he’s beautiful. Dangerously so.</p><p>Theon’s arm wraps around Jon’s waist as he comes down to kiss him again, softly pushing him against the furs. Jon goes willingly; this is so close to what he imagined, what he’d dreamed of after Theon had kissed him like this for the first time… The feeling of his naked skin against Jon’s is overwhelming, thrilling. Jon moves his hands to Theon’s back, splaying his fingers, feeling the muscles move under his palms when Theon rolls his hips, sending sparks through Jon’s body. They’re both hard, and the friction causes Jon to tilt his head back, a moan rising in his throat. </p><p>Theon shudders; he nips at Jon’s lip before he sits up, starting to open his breeches. At Jon’s gaze he pauses, looking unsure for the first time since this had started. </p><p>“I’m not going to fuck you, Snow, don’t look at me like that. Do you take me for a monster?” </p><p>That’s not what’s been going through Jon’s head, but, to his eternal surprise, now that it’s introduced the prospect isn’t as daunting as he thought it to be, not here, not like this. </p><p>“You can if you want to,” Jon mutters, sure he’s turned crimson at his own words. </p><p>Theon seems to be lost for words at that. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he finally says as he finishes unlacing himself before turning to Jon’s breeches. “I wasn’t exactly – you must be – there are other ways to feel good.”</p><p>“Felt good,” Jon states, biting back a moan when Theon drags his breeches down and his prick springs free. “After the first – I liked it.” </p><p>Theon pauses halfway out of his own breeches, staring down at Jon with an incredulous look. “You’re going to be the death of me, Snow,” he says, kicking his feet free and then he’s over Jon again, not a thread between them anymore. </p><p>It feels amazing, Theon’s mouth on Jon’s, on his jaw, placing wet, sucking kisses down his neck, their bodies flush together. Jon can feel Theon everywhere, all over him, and instinctively he spreads his legs as Theon’s knee comes between them. Like this they’re even closer, moving together in a way that makes stars burst before Jon’s eyes. A sob rises in his throat when he realizes that this is it, what he wanted, what he didn’t think he’d ever get. </p><p>“Are you alright?” Theon mumbles into the hollow of Jon’s throat, and Jon can feel him starting to grin when he nods. “Good,” Theon whispers. “We have only just begun.”</p><p>He’s gentle, startlingly so, when he takes them both in hand, his lips never leaving Jon’s skin. It feels incredible, even better than what Theon did the last time, and Jon knows he can’t last. All too soon he tenses, gasps, spills over Theon’s hand. It makes Theon chuckle; he slumps to the side, pressing a kiss to Jon’s shoulder. </p><p>“Such a virgin,” he teases, propping himself up on one arm, lazily stroking his own prick. </p><p>Jon’s breath hasn’t yet come back when Theon starts to prod at him. </p><p>“Turn on your side, Snow,” he instructs, and Jon’s stomach swoops at the implication. </p><p>Still, he does as he’s told, and immediately Theon is plastered to his back, stroking his flank, his sticky stomach, nosing at Jon’s neck. </p><p>“Is there oil in your lamp?” he asks. “Give it to me.” </p><p>Jon obeys, not having the slightest idea what Theon wants with a cold lamp. The fire should provide enough light to see where he has to put it. He can’t see what Theon is doing behind him, and the nervous ache in Jon’s chest enhances when he hears Theon mumbling to himself. And then Jon yelps when something slick and cool and hard is pushed between his cheeks. Theon said he wouldn’t… and yet Jon finds that he doesn’t mind, maybe even wants to try it like this – but Theon doesn’t. His prick glides up and down the crease in a maddening rhythm, every now and then catching at – Jon gasps, tries to bear back against Theon, only receiving a chuckle in return. </p><p>“Eager, are you? Don’t worry, Snow… I’ll fuck you into the mattress again soon enough.” He sinks his teeth into Jon’s shoulder, sucking hard until Jon moans. “There, that’s what I mean. The way you sound – you feel too good to <em> not </em> want more, aye?” </p><p>Jon doesn’t answer, too preoccupied with the way Theon makes him feel with his words and his body. He’s hard again, achingly so, and once again it is over too soon, as soon as Theon’s hand touches Jon’s prick. Only this time Theon follows immediately, with a hiss and a whispered <em> Fuck</em>, his seed slicking Jon’s backside. Jon can feel Theon relaxing behind him, flinching when Theon amicably pats his arse. </p><p>“There, that wasn’t so bad, eh?” </p><p>At that Jon turns around with a jolt, indignantly staring into Theon’s face. “I never said it was <em> bad, </em>I just–” </p><p>The rest of the sentence is swallowed by Theon’s greedy mouth, so insistent Jon starts to squirm against him. </p><p>“Aye, I know. I guess I just want to… to…” Theon shrugs, gliding off the bed in a fluent motion. He sighs, nodding at the table. “Do me a favour and eat something, alright?” </p><p>Jon nods, sitting up in his bed as he watches Theon dress. If he didn’t know better he’d almost think… it nearly sounded as if Theon meant to apologize. Theon gives Jon a shrewd glance, turning to go. </p><p>“Just don’t expect me to coddle you like this every time you behave like a weeping wench,” he says over his shoulder, already closing the door. “You’re still <em> my </em> bitch, Snow.”</p><p>And somehow, inexplicably, this makes Jon smile. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Well, this has so far been the longest chapter – and the most self-indulgent one. I'm not even sorry, I needed some sort of sweetness in this whole mess, and I do very much hope you liked it too. </p><p>Thank you for all your continuing love for this, you keep me sane! Hope you're staying safe and are well!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Chapter 18</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So. I honestly don't know what happened here, but somehow this chapter got double as long as most of the others. Huh.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Over the next couple weeks they develop something like a routine. Theon keeps to his promises, dutifully helping the maester in the library, asking for Jon’s permission whenever he wants to leave Winterfell. It happens every other day, sometimes two days in a row. He goes to town, doing gods know what, returning drunk and in a strange mood. Like that he comes to Jon, under the pretence of announcing his return – and always he finds a reason to stay, if only for as long as it takes him to get his own back for the humiliation, for having to ask. </p><p>Jon has come to expect it, having a flask of oil on the ready for those moments, never rejecting Theon’s advances. He tries not to think about it too much, how quickly he came to enjoy this kind of pleasure, and it’s easy to forget when he’s on all fours, stifling his cries in the furs. Theon is rough at those times, leaving bruises and marks on Jon’s skin, hissing words Jon blushes at the mere thought of, at the thought that a part of him likes to hear them. Sometimes it doesn’t get that far, ever since Jon remembered a particular thing from the tales Theon used to bother everyone with. </p><p>The look on Theon’s face when Jon had gone down on his knees for the first time is something he’ll never forget, something to treasure. Complete and utter shock, the hard mask slipping and leaving nothing behind but naked want. Jon loves this, loves everything about it. The taste, the feeling of warm flesh in his mouth… most of all he loves how much Theon enjoys it, how easy it is to take him apart like this. It’s strange how much Jon likes it himself, needing not much more than a few strokes to finish too, especially when Theon’s mouth runs away with him again. But in these moments it’s not insults or dirty words he utters – only praise, making Jon’s blood boil. It’s strangely rewarding, to know he’s good at this. </p><p>But there’s something even better. It hasn’t happened often, only twice since the first time. Two times Theon has knocked on Jon’s door – not to fuck him into the furs, all harsh hands and harsher words – but to take Jon slow and gentle, more kisses than words, giving as well as taking. Jon longs for these times, has been unable to stop a smile from sneaking onto his face throughout the days after. It’s been so prominent even Sansa had noticed the second time, remarking on Jon’s unusual good mood. Jon grins to himself when he recalls how Theon had nearly choked on his beer upon Jon’s reply. </p><p>
  <em> Just an additional round of training before bed. Makes me sleep like the dead.  </em>
</p><p>“What are you grinning at, Snow?” </p><p>The familiar annoying voice rips Jon out of his reminiscence. He looks over at Theon, standing in the archway to the inner yard with his arms crossed before his chest and the usual sneer on his face. </p><p>“I’ve been watching you for a few minutes now, and all you do is standing there like a moron and staring into nothing.” Theon shakes his head, taking a few steps closer and nodding at the bow Jon is holding. “Fucking concentrate if you ever want to be more than mediocre at this.” </p><p>There’s a lot Jon could say about <em> mediocre </em> weapon skills. Sure, Theon is an incredible marksman with bow and arrow, but he’s a lot less talented with a sword in his hand, not anywhere near Jon’s level, let alone Robb’s. Jon decides not to say anything for now though, settling with rolling his eyes as he nooks another arrow. He draws, concentrating on the target – and flinches hard when suddenly a warm gust of air hits his ear. Chills are running down his spine and Jon watches, exasperated, as the arrow flies way past the target and rebounds from a nearby tree, not even having enough force to get through the bark. Behind him Theon is pissing himself with laughter. Jon wants to murder him. </p><p>“Fuck me,” Theon finally wheezes, wiping his eyes. “You’re entertaining, I’ll give you that. Now be a good boy and give Uncle Theon the bow so he can show you how it’s done, aye?”</p><p>For a moment Jon contemplates to just strangle Theon with the bowstring, but then he hands the bow over, taking a step aside. This is nice, in a weird kind of way. Almost as if they’re… not friends, that’d be too much. Maybe something like companions. Theon raises his eyebrows as he plucks an arrow from the quiver standing on the ground, pointing it at Jon. </p><p>“Don’t even think about using any dirty tricks. Not that you’d succeed, but I’m going to make you regret it if you try.”</p><p>Somehow that sounds more promising than threatening to Jon’s ears, the thought making him blush. Everything Theon says these days sounds like that, lewd and suggestive. But then maybe it’s only Jon’s twisted brain that interprets things this way. He watches Theon fire two arrows in quick succession, both hitting the target spot on. He’s so good at this… as if it’s something he was born with. The men from the Iron Islands have always been rumoured to be skilled with bow and arrows. Maybe it’s in their blood. Theon's good at many things, Jon muses, including… is this an Ironborn thing too? Or did Theon simply develop his skills in bed with constant training? With whom?</p><p>“Did you have many men?” Jon asks out loud before he can think better of it. </p><p>The arrow Theon had just picked up clatters to the ground as he gives Jon an astonished look. </p><p>“<em>What?” </em> he says, brows gathering. “What on earth makes you – where the fuck did that come from?”</p><p>“Just wondered,” Jon mutters, promptly blushing up to his ears. “You’re – well, I think – you’re pretty good at it and I thought…” </p><p>“Oh.” Theon’s face relaxes; he smirks. “Apart from my natural talent, you mean?”</p><p>Jon starts to feel stupid. Theon probably had dozens of guys already, as well as girls. What was it he always said when Robb teased him about his many, many quests, some of them not the fairest of maids? <em> Ironborn fuck everything with a pulse and a hole. </em>Jon sighs, annoyed with himself. He shouldn’t ever have brought up the topic, and he definitely shouldn’t feel weird thinking of Theon’s vast experience. It’s not as if he actually cares who Theon has fucked. Fucks. Whatever. </p><p>“One, okay?” </p><p>Jon snaps out of his mind, thinking he must’ve misheard. Theon looks uncomfortable, twirling an arrow between his long fingers. </p><p>“There was one. Few years ago. A boy whore, down at the brothel. Thought he was a girl when I picked him downstairs, all delicate features and curly hair. Bit like you actually. The hair, I mean.” Theon gives Jon a quick glance, his face slightly pink. “Wasn’t going to send him back once we were in a room, was I? A hole’s a hole after all. “Saw him a few times after that. Learned how to do a lot of things.” He shrugs, somewhat defiantly. “There, happy now?” </p><p>Jon couldn’t say he feels particularly happy. Curls like his? Does that mean Theon likes to fuck him because Jon reminds him of a boy whore? The thought is curiously discomfiting, as well as the one about being just another – but before Jon can say anything, they’re interrupted by a loud yapping. Jon watches Theon automatically take a step back when Summer comes bounding into the yard. The wolf has a strange aversion towards Theon, unlike his litter mates. Shaggydog, Lady, Nymeria and even Ghost are somewhat neutral, while Grey Wind adores Theon. Probably because Robb loves him, for some indiscernible reason. </p><p>“There you are,” Bran calls, as always not far behind his wolf. “Father told me to fetch the both of you. It’s time.”</p><p>Jon frowns, for a moment having no idea what Bran is talking about. It’s only when his gaze falls on Theon, standing as rigid as a statue, his face drained of all colour, that Jon remembers. Cregan Slate’s execution. Jon can’t believe he’s forgotten about it. He’d been so absorbed with all the stuff going on, it had completely slipped his mind. It seems Theon had forgotten too. He’s frozen to the spot, not making the slightest move to follow Bran – or run away. That, Jon guesses, is at least something. </p><p>“Run ahead, tell Father we’re coming,” Jon instructs Bran. “We’ll put away the weapons, then we’ll be there.” </p><p>Bran nods, running away to do as told. Jon waits until both his little brother and Summer are out of sight before he walks over to Theon. He lays a hand on his arm, startled when Theon abruptly comes to life at that, jolting away from Jon’s grasp. </p><p>“Stay the fuck away from me, bastard,” he snaps. “Do you take me for a woman or a child? I’m fine, I can walk without you!” </p><p>The sudden hostility catches Jon cold. But surprise turns to anger in the blink of an eye, and Jon takes a deep breath to calm himself. “Then walk,” he says and stalks away. </p><p>After a moment he can hear Theon behind him, but Jon doesn’t turn around. There’s nothing he can do for him at this point anyway. Not if Theon continues to reject any help. Jon walks faster, the anger boiling in him. He tries, he tries so hard all the fucking time. Seven hells, he even lets him – all for Theon’s <em>damn</em> ego – and it’ll never amount to anything. Alright, if he wants it that way… two can play this game. The sense of camaraderie Jon had felt just moments ago has vanished entirely, and somehow that’s a sad thought. </p><p>The way isn’t long this time. It’s a public execution, reserved for the most despicable of crimes. Father loathes slavery with a passion, has done everything in his power to keep it from the North. Jon can only agree. The thought of selling people like livestock is appalling, horrible. People are already gathering in front of Winterfell’s gates where the men of the guard have positioned the block. Two of them are restraining Slate between them, a scrawny, balding man with a grimy appearance. </p><p>Father is waiting, with Harwin carrying Ice in its sheath at one side, Bran to the other. For the second time Jon can’t help but think how strange it is that it’s not Theon standing there, holding the weapon. Not that Jon would ever let that happen again. Watching this is one thing, carrying the weapon meant to end your life for the man who swings it another. Jon takes his place just behind Bran’s shoulder, not looking up when Theon comes to stand on his left side. He’s tense, Jon can almost taste it. Nothing to do about that, Jon reminds himself, trying to concentrate on Father’s words. </p><p>“Cregan Slate. In the name of Robert Baratheon, first of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, and for the crimes you committed against the people of the North, I hereby sentence you to die.” </p><p>To Jon’s side a shudder goes through Theon when the men drag Slate forward. He’s not coming voluntarily, cussing and spitting and struggling against the hands holding him. All for naught. His head is pushed down until he’s bent over the block, and Father pulls Ice from the sheath Harwin is holding out to him. Jon swallows, straightens his back. This is never easy to watch, a man’s life ending, no matter the reason, but Jon doesn’t look away. It’s part of Father’s duty, will be part of Robb’s – but never Jon’s, and a small voice in his head whispers that he ought to be grateful for that. A strangled noise to the side catches Jon’s attention. He glances over, at Theon’s face, so white Jon starts to worry again. It can’t be easy for Theon, and despite everything Jon suddenly feels bad. Nevermind what Theon says, he’s still Jon’s responsibility. </p><p>He extends a hand until it touches Theon’s, just a fleeting graze behind Bran’s back. Theon jolts, but instead of ripping his hand out of reach he wraps his fingers around Jon’s wrist like a vice, just as Ice comes down with a singing sound. A sickening, dull thud echoes when the decapitated head hits the ground, and Theon’s grip tightens. It’s dead silent; Father doesn’t tolerate cheering crowds at executions like this. He gives the sword back to Harwin, looking around the gathered crowd. </p><p>“The slaver has paid for his crimes,” he addresses them. “Now return to your work, good people.” </p><p>Theon seems to take that as his cue to leave. Before Jon can say a single word to him he drops Jon’s hand like a hot iron, turning on his heels and marching back into the castle with long strides. Jon looks after him, contemplating what to do. Nothing good can come out of him following Theon, not now. He’d only lash out. Maybe he needs to face his demons on his own. So Jon stays behind, making sure Bran is alright. It’s not the first time he saw something like this, but it’s very different to the deserter on the day they found the direwolves. </p><p>Jon can’t help but feel a hint of anger again when he thinks of Theon’s behaviour back then, tasteless and cocky, kicking the head of the poor dead boy when it had rolled his way. A lot has changed since then. They walk back inside after Father has left, presumably to visit the godswood. Bran is jumping up and down, blabbering on and on about how he didn’t flinch at all this time, and did Jon see all the <em> blood</em>? Jon smiles at that, a tad absentminded. Had he ever been so enthusiastic? He can’t remember his own first time watching Father do his duty, or how he’d felt then. Probably excited, just like Bran. To be included with the grown men must be every boy’s dream. </p><p>The rest of the day Jon spends with Bran and Arya, who had waited for them in the yard. They watch Summer and Nymeria play fight, and Jon has his hands full trying to keep Arya from wrestling Bran to the ground as well when he complains about how Nymeria only wins because Summer’s too chivalric with his sister. It’s good, spending some time with his siblings again. Jon loves them all, but while Robb is his best friend, Arya has a special place in Jon’s heart. When it’s time Jon herds them to dinner, accompanied by battle cries (“Down with chivalry!”). Father gives them a smile when they enter the hall, while Sansa and Lady Stark wear twin expressions of exasperation – probably at the state of Arya’s clothes. </p><p>Theon isn’t there, as Jon knew he wouldn’t be. Maybe he should look for him after all, see if there is something Jon could do to distract him, take his mind off today’s happenings. Not that Jon feels particularly in the mood to be belittled and insulted some more, but he knows himself well enough. There’s no way he’ll be able to sleep if his conscience keeps nagging him about Theon. So, instead of retiring to his own chamber, Jon finds himself in front of Theon’s, and after a moment of hesitation he knocks. When there’s no answer Jon sighs, trying the handle. It’s open, and he pushes at it a bit. </p><p>“I’m going to come in, aye?” he calls. </p><p>No answer, but Jon decides to take the absence of protest as an invitation to step inside. Theon is there alright, in a chair at his table, slumped forward and with his face buried on his arms. An empty bottle of wine is standing beside him and Jon rolls his eyes. Honestly, what else did he expect? Resigned, he walks over to Theon with the vague intention to check if he’s still breathing, but when he’s there… It’s hard not to let sympathy for this picture of misery seep into the annoyance, and as so often Jon fails spectacularly. It’s becoming impossible to separate the many Theons from one another. The one Jon had grown up with, the one he dislikes with a passion, becomes one with the man Jon took as his charge, the man he has a duty to care for. </p><p>And on top of that there’s yet another Theon, the one Jon has only seen glimpses of, the one who can smile without mocking, the one who can set Jon’s whole body on fire with one touch. Without thinking Jon reaches out, threading his fingers in the soft hair on Theon’s nape. His skin is warm, and Jon carefully lets his thumb glide down Theon’s neck. He’s never really able to do this at their… gatherings. Sometimes Jon wishes it were different, but then – with a jolt Theon sits up, nearly startling Jon out of his skin. He snatches his hand back, his face heating up – what was he even thinking–</p><p>“Snow?” Theon croaks, and Jon looks into his face. </p><p>It’s blotchy, his eyes red and swollen. He’s staring at Jon as if he’s not sure he’s really there, but then Theon’s shoulders sag, his mouth contorts into a grimace, and before Jon can do anything Theon has wrapped his arms around him, pressing his face against Jon’s stomach. Jon stands stock still, not daring to move a muscle. Theon is clutching him like he’s holding on for dear life, his shoulders are trembling, and slowly Jon lifts his arms, wraps them around Theon. </p><p>He doesn’t know how long they stay like this, but at some point the rest of Jon’s anger at Theon dissolves, leaving him with nothing but an unsettling feeling… a feeling dangerously close to tenderness. This is a new Theon altogether, and Jon isn’t sure how to handle it. It’s well-nigh impossible to keep disliking this Theon, trusting and vulnerable, and so Jon doesn’t say a word, just decides not to move for however long it can last. Finally Theon moves, reluctantly letting go of Jon. </p><p>“I’m so tired,” he mutters, eyes cast down. </p><p>“Go to bed then.” </p><p>Jon grimaces, waiting for a sneer or an eyeroll in reply to his dumb comment, but Theon only sighs, dragging his sleeve over his eyes.</p><p>“Can you–” he starts, then shakes his head. “Forget it.”</p><p>“Can I..?” </p><p>“Stay,” Theon mumbles, almost unintelligible. “I mean – do you think you could – tonight?” He snorts, his mouth pulling into a bitter frown. “Guess I don’t want to be alone. Go on, make fun of me.” </p><p>Jon looks at Theon until he finally looks back before he shrugs as casually as he can, marching over to the bed and shedding his doublet as he goes. </p><p>“I hope you don’t snore, Greyjoy,” he says, catching just a glimpse of the beginning of a smile on Theon’s face as he slips out of his tunic and under Theon’s furs. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thoughts? Questions? Wanna say hi? I'm so bored I tried drawing again, which I'm not good at, which makes me frustrated. I need distraction... looking at one more month at home  🙈🙈🙈</p><p>Hope you're all hanging in there!</p>
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<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Chapter 19</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Good morning/evening/day! </p><p>In this chapter we have angry Jon, confused Jon, hurt Jon, resigned Jon – poor boy, it's all too much for him.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Jon wakes up it’s just beginning to dawn. For a moment he lies still, staring into the dark, cold room. Something is different, but it takes a long moment to realize what it is – where he is. Slowly Jon turns his head. Theon is still asleep, a shapeless lump under the furs, and all Jon can see is Theon’s forehead, his hair on the pillow. Jon turns onto his side, towards Theon. It’s warm beneath the furs, so close to another body, and suddenly Jon wants nothing but stay, for as long as it can last, this peace between them. He wants to move nearer, bury his nose in Theon’s chest, feel his naked skin on his own. He extends a hand under the furs until his fingertips graze – Theon moves, mumbles something in his sleep, and Jon flinches, holds his breath. </p><p>Theon doesn’t wake up, but the moment has passed. Jon is awake, back in his right mind. He slips out of bed as carefully as he can, picking his clothes from where Theon had slung them over a chair last night before coming to bed. Last night… Jon shakes his head, trying to clear it of the last cobwebs. Nothing had happened. Theon had lain down with his back to Jon, had muttered goodnight and pretended to fall asleep right away. And after a while Jon had moved his hand to Theon’s back, just a small touch to let him know he’s there. And that’s it. Nothing to feel so tense about. </p><p>It’s too early for breakfast, and going back to sleep is impossible, so Jon fetches a sword from the armoury, dragging the dummy towards the Broken Tower. There he’ll wake no one with an early training. Not that it’s any use – the more Jon tries to concentrate, tries not to think of anything to do with Theon, the more erratic his blows get. He hacks away at the dummy, frustration mounting until he throws the sword to the ground with a growl. <em> Fuck </em> this! All of this! Why can’t anything be like it was before? Why does everything have to be so <em> bloody </em>complicated, why– </p><p>“Has he yielded already?” </p><p>Jon swivels around and stares at his father in surprise, too blindsided to think of an answer. </p><p>“Is anything the matter?” Father asks. “It’s early.” </p><p>“Couldn’t sleep,” Jon mutters. “I hope I didn’t wake you.” </p><p>“No, don’t worry. I couldn’t sleep either.” Father comes over, bending to pick up the sword. He weighs it in his hand, his face somber. “Robb is coming home,” he finally says, giving the sword to Jon. </p><p>“Robb is–” It takes a moment, but then Jon starts to smile, a warm feeling spreading in his chest. “That’s good. I missed him. It’s been too long… I can’t wait to see him.”</p><p>“He’s not coming alone.” Father strokes his beard, looking at a point somewhere above Jon’s head. He seems strangely reluctant, nearly sheepish. “Lord Tully and his son are accompanying him.” </p><p>Jon doesn’t understand why Father would sound so unhappy. Isn’t a visit from Lady Stark’s family a reason for joy instead of – oh. The warm feeling is gone in a heartbeat when Jon understands why Father isn’t looking at him. This is not the first time something like this happens. Lady Stark wants Jon to keep out of sight whenever another lord is visiting. Jon swallows, doesn’t want to betray the dull pain the rejection still causes. </p><p>“I’m going to be invisible for the duration of Lady Stark’s relatives’ stay,” he says firmly, looking at Father with what he hopes comes across as indifference. “How long are they planning to stay?” </p><p>“No less than a fortnight, I’m afraid.” </p><p>A fortnight… gods be good. Jon averts his gaze, doesn’t want Father to see the desperation in it. How in the seven hells can he remain hidden in his chambers for half a moon – or longer?  Jon doesn’t know what to say.</p><p>“Jon. Look at me.” Jon looks up, at Father’s apologetic gaze. “I don’t expect you to hide away. In fact... I have a task for you, if you are willing to leave Winterfell for some time.” </p><p>Leave Winterfell? But then he wouldn’t be here to welcome Robb home. And where would Father even have Jon go?</p><p>“The maester at Castle Black asked Maester Luwin for some books. I thought you could deliver them… I know you always wished to see the Wall. You can spend some time with Benjen, see how they live in the Night’s Watch.” Father sighs. “You would be of great service to me.”</p><p>It’s like a punch in the guts. Go and see the Wall, visit the Night’s Watch… it had been Jon’s dream for a long time, to go North and become a Brother of the Watch, to make something of his life. To not be just the Stark bastard anymore, but his own person. There’s honour in guarding the realm, and any man can make a name for himself, no matter if highborn, lowborn – or bastard. Names don’t count in the Watch, only deeds. Father had always dismissed Jon’s wish to join the Watch, wouldn’t even talk about the possibility. And now – now that the dream is dead, forever out of reach – now he sends Jon to the Wall. </p><p>But refusal is impossible. It’s not really a request anyway, only formulated as one for Jon’s sake. The Tullys are coming – and Jon needs to leave. It’s a horrible thought, to know he’s so unwelcome he’s sent away from his own home, even more horrible than being asked to make himself scarce. Still… Jon can’t refuse.</p><p>“I’m at your service, my lord,” he says stiffly. “I’ll go as soon as you want me to leave.”</p><p>“I’m sorry, Jon.” Father’s hand on Jon’s arm is heavy, maybe with regret. “I am truly sorry I have to ask this of you.” </p><p>“I’m fine,” Jon mutters, bowing his head curtly. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to change out of these clothes. And pack.” </p><p>“Is that a new doublet?,” Father asks, seeming relieved the conversation is over. “Green suits you.” </p><p>Jon looks down on what he’s wearing. Now that it’s light he notices what he failed to see earlier – the doublet is indeed green. It had been so dark when Jon had dressed, after… Jon doesn’t own a green doublet. His cheeks are starting to burn; he hopes Father won’t notice. </p><p>“I’ll have two horses readied for you, provisions and coin to cover additional costs along the journey.” </p><p>Jon frowns, confused. “Two horses, Father?” </p><p>“Aye.” Father gives Jon a small smile. “I thought you might want to take your charge with you. It will do you good, spending some time in each other’s company away from Winterfell. Learn how to work together. And mayhaps Theon feels like he can breathe more freely once removed from my presence, find back to himself.” </p><p>And with that Father gives a curt nod and turns to go, leaving Jon to stare after him in shock. So Father <em> has </em> noticed Theon’s fear of him. Jon would’ve bet his last shirt on Father being oblivious. <em> Maybe, </em> a small voice in Jon’s head whispers, <em> maybe you made him realize some things. </em> Jon sighs, not sure if that thought is humbling – or terrifying. Sure, he’s been quite firmly in Theon’s corner ever since Father had announced the news from the islands, but to think it’s in Jon’s power to make <em> Lord Stark </em> realize where he’s wrong… And it had been wrong, everything that had been decided, concerning Theon. </p><p>Theon, Theon, Theon. Jon is sick of it. His life seems to solely revolve around Theon fucking Greyjoy these days, and now he even has to travel with him. Just the two of them, for however long it takes to reach Castle Black. And then the whole way back again. Waking up to his face every day, hearing nothing but his stupid voice grating on Jon’s nerves day in day out… a horrible vision. <em> Horrible. </em>Jon ignores the fluttering in his stomach as he drags the dummy back to where he took it from and puts the sword away. It’s almost time for breakfast, but he doesn't feel hungry at all. Father’s news would be enough to upset anyone’s stomach. Anyone in Jon’s shoes.</p><p>And the worst of all – he won’t be here when Robb comes home. It hurts. Jon has missed him so much, especially in the days leading up to Theon’s execution, had longed for Robb to be there, share the burden. Take it for himself. Spare Jon this whole mess of having not a single thought in his stupid head that isn’t tainted by Theon. It’d be good, to be able to talk to Robb about it – well, not all of it. But to ask his advice on stuff, on how to handle Theon when he gets his moods. Robb always knew how to handle Theon. Always clucking together, the two of them, doing things Jon isn’t part of. Well, there’s at least one small consolation: Theon won’t be here when Robb comes back either. Only fair. </p><p>Jon trots across the yard, with the vague intention of going to his chambers to pack the few things he’ll need. His warmest clothes. A heavy cloak. Does Theon have enough warm clothes? He’s always putting looks before convenience, wandering around in too flimsy clothes and then endlessly moaning about the cold. Gods, that’s only going to get worse the farther North they’ll get… Jon shakes his head, angry with himself. Theon, Theon, <em> Theon. </em> And there he is, the insufferable prick, coming across the yard towards Jon with Rickon at his heels, smiling when he sees Jon. It only makes Jon angrier. </p><p>“Are you not going to breakfast?” Theon asks when he’s in earshot. </p><p>Jon walks past him without so much as a glance in his direction. He can’t deal with him, not now. </p><p>“And a good morning to you, Snow,” Theon says, sounding miffed. “Snow? <em> Hello?</em>” </p><p>Jon walks on, shoulders hunched around his ears. He knows he’s behaving ridiculously, but there’s too much going on in his head at the moment to pack whatever Theon wants on top of it. He’ll talk to him later, once he’s settled, once he’s packed his stuff. Later. </p><p>Unfortunately, later happens after only half an hour of peace and quiet. Jon has just laid out the clothes he wants to take on his bed and is checking his warm winter cloak for any damages when the door flies open and Theon walks in without knocking, as if he owns the place. A vein starts to pulse in Jon’s head; he presses his lips tightly together. Without looking at Theon Jon folds the cloak to a tight package, stuffing it into the bag he readied. </p><p>“Good thinking on fucking off early today,” Theon says as he walks over to Jon’s bed, seating himself right on top of Jon’s clothes. “At first I thought – but you’ll never guess who decided to come and see if I’m up for a game of hide and seek at the crack of dawn!” </p><p>Rickon, probably. Jon doesn’t say it, just rips a pair of breeches out from underneath Theon. </p><p>“Has your mouth finally grown shut? Too bad if that’s the case, I took you some bread and cheese.” Theon holds out a stick of cheese, huffing when Jon dodges him as he tries to stick it into his mouth. “Drowned fuck, what’s the matter? Did I do anything?” Theon cackles, taking a bite of cheese himself. “No’ that I know off,” he mumbles, mouth full. “Not this time at least.” </p><p><em> You exist, </em> Jon thinks grumpily as he folds a doublet. </p><p>“Hey, Snow?” Theon leans forward, snatching the hem of Jon’s doublet. “What – is that <em> my </em> doublet? Thought some girl took it away to wash it.” </p><p>“Mistook it in the dark,” Jon mutters, moving out of Theon’s grasp. “I’ll give it back when it’s cleaned.”</p><p>“Oooh, it talks!” Theon slumps onto his back, peering into Jon’s face. “Come on, Snow, why so pouty?” </p><p>Jon heaves a deep sigh. Theon isn’t going to fuck off it seems, not before he got whatever it is he wants. And then, why not tell him now and be done with it? Then he can protest and Jon can tell him he’ll have to come anyway. Father is right, it might do Theon some good to be away from Winterfell. Jon frowns. Nobody’s interested in what’d do <em> him </em> good. </p><p>“Father sends me on an errand. I am to deliver some books to Castle Black.” </p><p>“Castle <em> Black</em>? The one up North? He sends you to the Wall? <em> Why?” </em></p><p>Theon sounds so aghast it almost makes Jon smile against his will. </p><p>“Aye, the Wall,” he says. “Robb is coming home, along with the whole Tully household it seems.”</p><p>“And Lady Catelyn wants you out of sight,” Theon states. “I mean. That’s no reason to outright fucking exile you, is it?” </p><p>Well, no, it isn’t. But some things will never change, no matter how unfair they seem. Jon shrugs, careful not to let Theon see his inner turmoil. </p><p>“And you’re going to – fuck, Snow. I’ll tell Robb you’re sorry to not be there, aye?” Theon grins; it looks strangely upside down from the position he’s in. “Not that I’ll see him often as long as the Tullys are here, I suppose.”</p><p>“You’re not going to see him at all,” Jon says curtly. “Not until we’re both back from Castle Black.”</p><p>For a moment it’s completely silent, then Theon jolts upright so fast he should be dizzy. </p><p>“I’m not going to the fucking Wall,” he hisses. “I don’t care what your bloody father says, I’m not his bastard son he can get rid of at that woman’s whim! I fucking won’t–”</p><p>“<em>I’m </em> saying it,” Jon interrupts him. “Don’t pretend being away from Winterfell for a while would be such a hardship for you. Weren’t you desperate to fuck off? Here’s your chance.” </p><p>“Fuck off <em> home,” </em>Theon snaps, getting to his feet and starting to pace up and down. “Not to the end of the fucking world, you idiot!” </p><p>“Well, the idiot says you’re coming with him.” </p><p>Theon stops in his pacing. His chest is heaving; his eyes start to glitter dangerously as a slight smirk spreads on his lips. </p><p>“Is that an <em> order? </em> Are you <em> ordering </em>me to accompany you on your shitty little mission?” </p><p>His voice is like velvet all of a sudden, deceptively soft. It makes shivers run over Jon’s skin, makes his anger recede. Theon comes closer, until his face is barely an inch from Jon’s. </p><p>“Aye,” Jon says hoarsely, “it’s an order.” </p><p>His eyes fall shut as Theon’s mouth crashes down on his, kissing, biting, bruising. Theon’s hands are everywhere, <em> Theon </em> is everywhere – there’s no escaping this anymore. His life as it was is in shambles, his childhood pest is his charge – and his lover. No, Jon thinks dizzily as he lets Theon push him into the furs, he doesn’t want things back to what they were. He knows he couldn’t cope without the touches, the kisses. He’s come to need them, need <em> him</em>. There’s no going back. Not for Jon. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So. Robb is coming home, but I'm afraid we'll have a few chapters yet until we see him and his reaction to the whole mess.<br/>First, we'll ride to Castle Black 😬 </p><p>Any thoughts, questions, etc?<br/>Thank you all for your amazing support and love for this story ❤️ The only other time I've written so much so fast was the Theon-centric Christmas Carol adaptation XD</p><p>Stay safe and well, dears!!</p>
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<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Chapter 20</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Friday, Friday... </p><p>I wrote four chapters in one and a half days, and I really have to rein myself in to not just post them all at once XD</p><p>Thank you @half_life for letting me dump them on all on you ❤️</p><p>On the road!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They leave two days later, in the early morning. Two horses are loaded with everything they are going to need: clothes, provisions, a full purse Father has given Jon himself for unexpected expenses. Jon doesn’t intend to spend much of it. The journey up north will take about a fortnight with just the two of them. They can ride the whole day, make camp at night so the horses can rest. Father has arranged for them to change horses at the inn at Long Lake, but until then they can do perfectly well without sleeping in beds. The last thing Jon packs are the books Maester Luwin has tied into a neat parcel.</p><p>“Give Maester Aemon my greetings,” he tells Jon. “And take good care of yourself – and your charge. He’s been a great help these past weeks and the work isn’t done yet.” </p><p>From the corner of his eyes Jon can see Theon rolling his eyes, but he does seem pleased at the praise. Jon looks for Arya, not really expecting to see her. She’d been to his chambers the night before, raving about how it isn’t fair that Jon has to leave. Jon hadn’t told her the reason, not wanting to cause strife between her and her mother, but Arya’s a clever girl. Now she’s nowhere to be seen, so Jon says his farewells to the boys and Father, watches Theon do the same, and then they are off, riding out of Winterfell with Ghost leading the way. </p><p>For the first couple hours it’s quiet; Theon still seems to be sulking about his fate. Fine by Jon, really. He’s got enough to do with finding a comfortable position to sit, shifting every so often in the saddle. Jon knows Theon is watching him, smirking in his smug way whenever Jon moves. It’s his fault, of course. Last night he’d – Jon blushes, shifts again. Theon chuckles.</p><p>“Only the wages for your sins, Snow,” he drawls, leading his horse next to Jon’s. “That’s what you get for dragging me to the arse end of nowhere.” </p><p>Jon doesn’t answer, only gives Theon what he hopes is a fearsome glare. It makes Theon laugh, and then the prick starts whistling a vaguely familiar melody. It’s annoying, and for a moment Jon contemplates simply to order Theon to shut up – but who knows how Theon would react to that. They have a good distance to get behind them before nightfall, and Jon doesn’t want to spend it in agony. So he bears the whistling in silence, tries to concentrate on the road before them. It leads through a small stretch of forest at one point, thick trees lining the sides of the road. </p><p>Ghost has gone off into the underbrush, probably to hunt breakfast for himself. Jon isn’t worried about him. Sometimes weeks go by without Ghost showing up. At first Jon had been worried out of his mind, had had unsettling dreams that made no sense, endless, vague visions of greys and browns, the feeling of running fast, sometimes a rush of adrenaline and the taste of blood. Over the time Jon got used to it, to the long absences, the dreams he has then. And Ghost always comes back. </p><p>“I’m hungry,” Theon declares after another few hours. “How about a little rest? Take a bite, have a nap, make you pay for your sins some more…” </p><p>Good gods. Jon looks at the sky, but the sun is hidden behind the clouds. It must be around midday. </p><p>“No time for that,” he finally says. “You can eat something now. We’ll rest in the evening.” </p><p>“I don’t like eating on horseback,” Theon complains. “It makes my stomach queasy when I eat while moving.” </p><p>“Ships move too,” Jon says before he can think better of it. “Quite a lot from what I’ve heard. Do you get queasy eating on ships as well, o’ fearless man of the sea?” </p><p>The silence following Jon’s words is heavy, stretching for so long he starts to feel bad about what he said. He looks over his shoulder. Theon is riding behind him, his face wearing a gloomy expression. Jon turns back, guilt making his stomach squirm. They ride on, and now the quiet feels eerie, uncomfortable. Jon almost wishes the whistling back. </p><p>“I don’t remember,” Theon says out of the blue, an hour later, maybe two. “I only remember the last time I’ve been on a ship, and then I was stuck below deck surrounded by men celebrating the death of my brothers, the defeat of my father. Didn’t eat much that day, but I did feel sick.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Jon mutters, horrified. The thought of having to go through all of that as a child… </p><p>“Long time ago,” Theon says. He urges his horse on until he’s next to Jon again, falling into a light trot. “Don’t look at me with your big, sad eyes, Snow, I’m not going to break into tears.” He half smirks, one corner of his mouth pulling up. “But I do wish I remembered more of what was before that. Sometimes I think half of my memories have never happened, as if I’d dreamed them.” </p><p>“You did remember some things,” Jon says. “That story about the sea dragon, the songs, the earring thing–” Jon breaks off, shifting again to reach into his pocket. It’s still there, the sharp, pointy end of the canine digging into his fingertip. “You used to talk about little else when you first came to Winterfell, I remember. Ironborn this, Ironborn that.” </p><p>“Oh well…” Theon grins, shrugs lightly. “Not as if it matters, eh? Before long my father’s little rebellion will be smashed once again. And this time they won’t take a pawn. This time they’ll wipe out all the traitors.” A ray of light breaks through the clouds and Theon tilts his head back, closes his eyes. “I don’t expect I’ll see any of them again. Or the Iron Islands. It doesn’t matter if I remember anything.” </p><p>There’s nothing Jon can say to dispute that. Theon is right, the king won’t be merciful after a second rebellion. He wishes he could think of something consoling to say, anything. </p><p>“It does matter,” he tries after a long pause. “You’re still Theon Greyjoy, despite what your father did. No one can make you into something else. It’s a part of you, your heritage. I don’t think you can ever lose that.” </p><p>“Didn’t I lose it already?” Theon tilts his head, cocking an eyebrow at Jon. “I’m a northern bastard’s charge. There’s nothing I have on me that hasn’t been paid by Stark coin, all my clothes are northern in their style… even my bow is a Stark bow, looks nothing like the ones my uncles used. There’s nothing Ironborn about me at all.”</p><p>“Your cock,” Jon blurts out, and for a moment Theon stares at him in bafflement before he breaks into laughter. </p><p>“Drowned <em> fucking </em> God,” he finally chuckles, and the smile he gives Jon is so warm it makes Jon’s chest tighten. “Aye, you’re right about that one, Snow. We’re famous for our big, magnificent cocks.” </p><p>He’s still chuckling when suddenly a screech rings through the trees, and then everything happens too fast; the horses spook, a large, dark shadow flashes before Jon’s eyes, a searing pain in his right arm and then the world shifts, the horse is gone from beneath him and Jon hits the ground with a pained cry. It takes a moment before everything stops spinning, and slowly Jon lifts his head when Theon’s voice reaches him, strangely dull and echoing. </p><p>“Snow, what the – are you hurt?”</p><p>Jon tries to sit up, flinching when a stab of pain shoots through his left wrist. And then Theon is there, jumping off his horse and kneeling down beside Jon. </p><p>“Let me see that,” he says, taking Jon’s arm. He carefully prods at it, and now it’s not as painful as before. “Not broken,” Theon mumbles after gently turning Jon’s hand back and forward. “Probably just contused.”</p><p>“What happened?” Jon asks, still having no idea how he ended up like this. “I don’t – where’s my horse?” </p><p>“Probably at the Wall by now,” Theon says dryly as he gets to his feet, patting his clothes down. He extends a hand and Jon grabs it with his right, uninjured one and levers himself to his feet. But Theon doesn’t let go again, instead pulling Jon’s arm closer. “What’s that?” he asks, pointing at a large tear in Jon’s sleeve. </p><p>Jon frowns and pulls the sleeve back, revealing two long, bloody scratches. They smart, but not as much as his left wrist. </p><p>“It’s nothing,” he says with a shrug. “They’re not deep, I’m fine. But I really would like to know what happened.” </p><p>Theon lets go of Jon’s hand, nodding at the forest. “There’s your answer,” he says. </p><p>Jon looks. Ghost is trotting up to them, something large and grey between his teeth that he drags towards Jon where he lets go. Theon crouches down, carefully disentangling a set of paws before he whistles through his teeth. </p><p>“Shadowcat,” he says, turning the dead animal around so Jon can see its head. “A young one, I reckon. Look at its ribs… probably been starving and desperate. Thought you look like a nice meal.” He grins up at Jon. </p><p>“Good boy, Ghost,” Jon mutters, patting the wolf’s head. Ghost seems to laugh, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. </p><p>“He certainly looks very pleased with himself,” Theon remarks as he gets to his feet. “You alright, Snow? Or did the big bad kitty cat startle you too hard?” </p><p>“I’m fine,” Jon says, rolling his eyes. “Why don’t you take the chance and eat something while I borrow your horse to find mine?” </p><p>“<em>You </em> eat something,” Theon contradicts, already mounting his horse. “You had a fright, we don’t want you to faint in an hour when the shock wears off.” </p><p>“I don’t have a shock–” Jon starts, but Theon already gallops away. </p><p>He’s back a good half hour later, with Jon’s horse in tow. The poor thing is covered in sweat, and the rest of the afternoon they ride in a slow tempo, only reaching the end of the forest when it starts to get dark. Jon leads the horses to a brook while Theon makes a fire, and together they set up an improvised shelter with their cloaks. Jon’s left wrist is feeling better since he’s wrapped it with a tight bandage, but his right arm feels hot, the skin around the scratches tender and aching every time something touches the area. Jon tries to ignore it. It’ll be better in the morning. </p><p>The night is uncomfortable. Jon can’t sleep, trying to lie as still as possible to not disturb Theon. The first birds are already starting to sing when Jon finally falls into an uneasy doze, and when Theon shakes him awake it’s strangely hard to get up. Jon stumbles to the brook, splashing his face with the ice cold water. It helps somewhat, and Jon washes hastily, careful not to touch his arm. It seems worse than yesterday, swollen and a deep red. The scratches look horrible, and Jon loosely covers them with a cloth. They ride on after breakfast, making good stride, but somehow the day seems to drag. Jon feels dull, as if his whole body is filled with lead. </p><p>Most of the time Theon talks, and Jon tries to answer with grunts and other noises at the appropriate times, but he’s not really listening. Something about an inn not far from here where Theon knows a wench or so, but Jon only shakes his head. They can sleep outside again. It’s not cold, rather the opposite. </p><p>The road creeps past. Something is wrong with Jon’s head, it feels hot and empty. They stop for a short break around midday, but Jon isn’t hungry. He fends off Theon’s nagging to eat something, only wants to ride on. But as the day progresses it gets harder and harder to stay upright in the saddle, and when Theon declares it time to stop for the night Jon feels nothing but tired. Every bone in his body seems to ache, he feels hot, and the moment their little camp is ready Jon crawls inside. </p><p>The last thing he notices is Theon coming to join him, mumbling something Jon can’t make out, a cool hand on his face – and then darkness. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Have I thanked you all lately? Everytime a message appears in my inbox my heart leaps with joy, everytime I look at the fic and there's a new kudo... Thank you, so much!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Chapter 21</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Guys, you're so sweet. But! I'll have to be a good little writer and stick to the schedule for now. I don't wanna jinx it 😅 </p><p>I dunno if you noticed but I might have added a few chapters. And I have an ending^^</p><p>So, are you ready for some realizations and a lot of Theon POV angst – and a severe case of him channeling Florence Nightingale!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>At first Theon doesn’t know what woke him, but then he hears it again – a low whine, somewhere outside. A spot of early morning light falls on Theon’s face. Drowsily, he reaches for Snow beside him, his hand hitting nothing but air. Snow isn’t there. Theon frowns, sitting up. Snow had been unwell yesterday, his face burning hot, and he’d passed out the moment his head had hit the clothes satchel he uses as a pillow. And now he’s gone – where? The low whine comes again, and this time Theon crawls out of the shelter to look what it is – coming face to face with a huge, pale shadow, staring at him with those creepy red eyes. Ghost lowers his head, whines again, and Theon exhales slowly. </p><p>“Drowned fuck, did you have to startle me like that? What’s wrong with you, mutt? Your master isn’t here, he’s taking a piss or something.” </p><p>Ghost huffs, a deep growl rumbling in his chest. Something about it makes Theon uneasy, but it takes a moment to make him realize what it is: he’s never heard the beast make a sound before. No yapping, no howling – no whines. No growls. Ghost growls again, making a little yap that sends Theon to his feet. Something is very wrong. The wolf immediately takes off as soon as he made sure Theon is following, leaping across the meadow and down to the small pond where they watered the horses yesterday. Theon has a hard time keeping up, almost has to run, when suddenly Ghost stops beneath a dark figure lying in the grass. </p><p>
  <em> “Fuck!!”  </em>
</p><p>Theon’s knees hit the damp grass as he turns Snow onto his back. He’s as white as a sheet, his lips are pale and his eyes closed, and for a moment Theon feels nothing but panic. He bends low to Snow’s mouth, relief flooding him when he detects a shallow, barely-there breath. </p><p>“Drowned – wake up, man, don’t be an idiot!” Theon roughly shakes Snow’s shoulder. “Snow, I swear to every god – fuck!” </p><p>Snow’s skin is practically glowing with heat; he’s totally out of it. Cursing violently Theon drags Snow’s arm over his shoulder, hefting him up. He’s limp, and bloody heavy, and it takes a while for Theon to drag him back to their camp where he carefully lets him down again. Ghost has followed them silently, but now he lays down beside Snow, nudging his arm with his nose. His arm… dread curling in his guts Theon rips open Snow’s sleeve, flinching when he sees the cloth sticking to his skin. He fetches water, drenching the cloth with it until it comes off easily. Fucking <em> fuck… </em> </p><p>The scratches Snow said were nothing look horrible, crusted and a fiery red. The whole arm is swollen, even hotter than Snow’s face. Inflamed, Theon thinks, from that fucking cat’s fucking claws. And Snow the fucking idiot, couldn’t he have said anything? Theon had noticed he seemed off yesterday, had attributed it to tiredness, thought maybe Snow was feeling homesick and downtrodden for having had to leave Winterfell… Snow shifts suddenly, startling Theon out of his thoughts. He’s mumbling something Theon can’t make out, his lips dry and cracked. He’s still unconscious, so Theon can only wet Snow’s lips a little, hoping it helps. </p><p>He needs to get Snow away from here, to a maester, to a bed. The fever he’s running is high, dangerously so. Sure, he’s young and strong and otherwise healthy, but an inflamed wound is no joke. Such a thing can kill a man. The thought sends chills down Theon’s spine, and with a harsh curse he gets to his feet and clears their campsite. Once he’s got everything stowed away and the horses ready, Theon somehow manages to drag Snow over his horse’s back. It’s not ideal, but there’s no other possibility. He can’t leave Snow to die here, he needs to– </p><p>
  <em> ...until one of you is laid to rest.  </em>
</p><p>The words come out of the blue, Ned Stark’s voice ringing loud and clear in Theon’s head. He stands stock still as the implication hits. If Snow died, died from something Theon couldn’t prevent, that isn’t his fault – he’d be free. The pledge stands as long as they both live. If Snow dies, the pledge dies with him, as if it had never existed. No one knows what is happening, no one can prove Theon didn’t do anything in his power to save Snow’s life – they couldn’t hold him back. He could leave. </p><p>For just a tiny moment Theon can see it as if it’s already happening, can see himself on board of a ship, wind and salt and the sun on his face, away from the North, clear of the bond that was forced on him, from the bastard who – it’s gone as soon as it came, cold sweat breaking out on Theon’s skin, and with a sick noise he turns to the side and retches, his stomach churning, horror surging through him. Snow with his fucking idealism, his high morals – Snow, fucking Jon Snow who saved Theon’s life, who endures all his moods, lets Theon do whatever he wants to him – Snow with his sweet smile that always comes as a surprise, always warms Theon from the inside... </p><p>He mounts his own horse, still feeling sick, thoroughly appalled with himself for having even <em> thought </em> of – Theon groans, curls in on himself in the saddle. Fucking excuse of a human being… He doesn’t want Snow to die, the thought sending another wave of dread washing over Theon, leaving him gasping for air. He takes the reins with shaking hands, forcing himself to lead the horses in a slow gait when really he wants to gallop as if the Others are behind them. The inn isn’t far, he can get a room, ask around for a maester. </p><p>“You can make it, alright?” he tells Snow. “We’re almost there. Bear up, you stupid bastard, you hear me? You’re going to be alright.” </p><p>It takes Theon two hours to reach the inn, and by the time he’s there he feels almost faint with dread. He jumps off, rushing over to get Snow off the horse. When Theon touches him he flinches, a hoarse groan making Theon jump. </p><p>“We’re here,” he mutters, nearly stumbling under Snow’s weight. “We made it, Snow, you’ll feel better in a moment… Hello!!” he yells, “anyone there? I need a hand!” </p><p>It takes a moment before the innkeep comes outside, his dour face lighting up at seeing Theon. </p><p>“Greyjoy!” he hollers, wiping his hands on a napkin. “What’s the matter, lad, in trouble yet again?” </p><p>“Shut the fuck up, Kyrt, and help me carry him inside and to a room.” Theon staggers, trying to keep Snow upright. “Fucking <em> now</em>, man!”</p><p>“Gods be good,” Kyrt mumbles as he hastens over. “You didn’t kill him, aye?” </p><p>Theon doesn’t answer, too occupied with supporting Snow’s lolling head as they drag him inside, up the stairs and into one of the two guest rooms. Once Snow is in bed and Theon has made sure he’s still breathing, he turns to the innkeep. </p><p>“Can you send Barberra to fetch a maester? He’s got a festering wound, his fever is fucking high… I need a maester.” </p><p>“Oh, of course, a maester. He’s in the tower chamber of my castle, you dumb little shit.” Kyrt snorts. “And Barbie isn’t here anymore. Believe it or not but my girl finally got that you’re not worth pining for. Married a <em> good </em> lad a couple moons ago.” </p><p>“Fuck…” Theon is barely listening to Kyrt’s blabbering. There’s little less interesting than Barberra’s fate at the moment. “I need a maester, or something similar. He can’t die, do you hear me?” </p><p>“Who is he?” Kyrt asks curiously. </p><p>“Ned Stark’s bastard,” Theon mutters, helplessly watching Snow shift to the side, his face contorted. “A friend.” </p><p>“I’m sorry, lad,” Kyrt says, sounding sympathetic now. “All you can do is try to lower his temperature and hope that he’s strong enough to make it through on his own. Try to get some water into him, but only when he’s awake enough to swallow. I’ll send one of the maids with some things you might find useful.” </p><p>Theon isn’t listening anymore. He drags a chair to the bed, looking down on Snow. His face is reddened, his hair a sweaty mess. Get the fever down… the room is warm, so Theon sets to get the clothes off of Snow, undressing him down to his smallclothes. When a girl appears with a bucket full of cool water and a heap of cloths Theon barely thanks her before he dips one into the water, wringing it out and placing it on Snow’s head, another two on his feet, one at the horrible wound. It makes Snow whimper, but after a moment he relaxes again. </p><p>“Beg your pardon, m’lord?” Theon looks up, at the girl that brought the water. She’s pulling a large jar out of her apron pocket. “The master says you can try putting some honey on his wound, bandage it loosely.” She holds the jar out and Theon takes it, nodding at her to leave. She doesn’t, lingering for a moment and gawking at Snow. “He’s very pretty,” she whispers. “I hope he’ll make it.” </p><p>Theon bites his lip, ignoring her until she finally fucks off. The cloth on Snow’s forehead is already warm and Theon changes it to a fresh, cool one, then the others. The wound he dresses just like the girl had said, honey smeared on the scratches and a loose stripe of fabric wrapped around the arm. Snow is still so hot, his skin seeming to evaporate the cool water as soon as it touches him. </p><p>“Snow,” Theon mutters urgently, “come on, I know you can do this. You’re too stubborn to go and die on me, right?” </p><p>No reaction, and Theon’s desperation grows. The hours drag past; mechanically he swaps the warm cloths for cool ones, again and again. Sometimes Snow will open his eyes, looking to be awake, but he doesn’t say anything coherent, doesn’t seem to see Theon. Theon uses these moments to support Snow’s head, get a few drops of water into him, anxiously watching his throat move as he swallows. Most of the time Snow is as hot as a furnace, but at one point he starts to shiver violently. Terrified, Theon drags every available piece of fabric onto the bed and over Snow, only to remove it all again when Snow moans from another wave of heat. </p><p>Night falls, and nothing has changed. Theon feels exhausted, but leaving isn’t an option, sleeping isn’t an option. A few times Theon dozes off in his chair, jolting awake every time Snow moves. If he died now, far from home, all because Theon even <em> considered</em>...</p><p>“I didn’t mean it, I swear I didn’t mean it,” Theon rambles, prays, begs. “Please, whoever, I swear I’ll be better, but <em> please</em>…”  </p><p>Snow’s head drops to the side, he mumbles something unintelligible. His face is a pained grimace, seeming impossibly hotter, and fear claws at Theon’s insides. </p><p>“Snow,” he says pleadingly, again and again. “Drowned God, I swear I’ll kill you if you don’t – Fucking hells, I need you, alright?” Theon sniffs, swallowing against the lump in his throat. “You said you wouldn’t leave me, you fucking bastard! Was that all just talk?” He’s almost yelling, wishes he could shake Snow’s shoulder, slap him, kiss him. “I’ll do anything, I swear I will… Jon, <em> please</em>!”</p><p>Theon slumps forward onto the bed, burying his face on his arms. His eyes are stinging, and for a moment Theon fights it, but what for? He gives in, hating himself some more for weeping at Snow’s sickbed like a wailer, and yet he doesn’t find the strength to stop the flood until it ends on its own. Too tired to move a muscle Theon stays where he is, and in a moment he’s fallen into an exhausted, restless slumber.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Don't hate mah boy for having had that thought... He's hating himself more than enough for all of us. </p><p>Hope you're all well, thank you for your unbroken support ❤️</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Chapter 22</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>My dears, I am very sorry to inform you...<br/>.<br/>.<br/>.<br/>...that we'll be going on an excursion to Sappyland for the next couple chapters!<br/>I'm the sappiest old sap, so that's all I can offer as an excuse. There will be angst again soon enough. And more sap hrhrhr...</p><p>The next 2 are rather short, more like the ones I posted at first, so I've spontaneously (yesterday) decided to post one today, one on Friday (as usual). </p><p>Also, it's a mini celebration – this fic is now officially my most kudo'd one. Thank you all so very much ❤️❤️❤️</p><p>Now, go get your toothbrushes! Caries-inducing chapter ahead 🙂</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first thing he feels is the cold, welcome and delicious – for a moment, until Jon starts to freeze despite the warmth of the room. Room? Jon slowly opens his eyes, lets his head roll to the side. He’s in a room he doesn’t know, there’s a large fire roaring in the hearth – Jon frowns, trying to remember how he got here. The last thing he remembers is waking up in their makeshift camp, almost dying of thirst, so hot… And then nothing, and now he’s here and has no idea why. Carefully Jon tilts his head, and his heart makes a ridiculous little leap when he sees him. </p><p>Theon is half sitting in a chair, half lying on Jon’s bed. He seems to be out cold, and Jon tries to lift his hand. It’s surprisingly hard, his whole arm heavier than he remembers, but finally Jon manages and reaches out, touching Theon’s hair. He shifts, lifts his head – and sits bolt upright, disbelief on his face. </p><p>“Jon,” he chokes, only that one word, before his face contorts into something between a grimace and a smile. “You utter, <em> utter </em> bastard.”</p><p>And with that he leans forward, pressing his head against Jon’s stomach with a stifled noise. Jon doesn’t know what’s wrong, only knows that Theon called him Jon. It does something to him, hearing his name like that. </p><p>“Let’s see,” Theon mutters once he’s sat back up, face pink. He reaches out, cradling Jon’s cheek in his palm. “Still too warm. How are you feeling?” </p><p>“Cold,” Jon wants to say, surprised when only a hoarse whisper comes out. He clears his throat, tries again. “I’m cold. Thirsty. Confused?” </p><p>He smiles at Theon, startled when he jumps up as if bitten. He rummages through the room, returning immediately with what looks like several blankets and both their cloaks, starting to throw one after the other over Jon. Before Jon can ask what this is about Theon fetches a jug and a cup from somewhere, filling the cup and holding it to Jon’s lips. </p><p>“Slow,” he says, watching Jon like a hawk as he swallows greedily. </p><p>It’s like pure life running down Jon’s parched throat. When he’s had enough he shifts, trying to sit up. He can’t, and with a distraught noise Jon sinks back again. </p><p>“What happened?” he asks. “Where are we? Why are you behaving so strangely?” </p><p>“You don’t remember anything?” Theon gently grips Jon’s arm, removing the bandage from it. Jon looks, flinching at the sight of the wound. “This already looks better, but still bad enough. Your ‘nothing’ scratches, Jon.” Theon shakes his head, puts Jon’s arm down and takes a step back. “They gave you a nasty fever, and me the scare of my life. I thought you’re – I thought you’d leave me.” </p><p>Something in Theon’s voice makes Jon’s chest tighten. The way he’s standing there, arms wrapped around himself, his face drawn and pale… Jon wishes he could get up, go to him. </p><p>“Come here,” he says instead, waiting for Theon to sit down on the edge of the bed. With some difficulty Jon frees his left arm from the mass of blankets piled on top of him, covering Theon’s hand with his. “I’m still not entirely sure what happened, but. Seems you saved my life. Thank you.” </p><p>“Don’t,” Theon says, turning his face away. “You wouldn’t thank me if you knew – it was nothing.” He looks back at Jon, grinning weakly. “I was so scared, you fucking prick.” </p><p>“I liked <em> Jon </em> better,” Jon says, biting his lip when Theon squeezes his hand, making Jon’s heart beat faster. </p><p>“I think I might like him too,” Theon says, smirking. “Just a tiny bit.” </p><p>***</p><p>“This is so undignified,” Jon grouses as Theon helps him clean himself with a bucket of steaming water and a rough sponge. “Look, I’m <em> certain </em> I can manage alone.” </p><p>“As you managed to go to the privy alone earlier?” Theon grins, meanly scrubbing at Jon’s neck. “If I hadn’t been right behind you, you’d still be lying on the hallway floor like a bug on its back.” </p><p>“Please do shut up,” Jon says, blushing furiously. </p><p>He’s not really well yet, feeling as weak as a newborn pup. Every now and then he’ll have chills, or heat up, and then Theon is there with blankets or cool, wet cloths. When Jon had felt something like hunger this morning Theon had tried to feed him from a bowl of chicken broth, until Jon had snapped and insisted on doing it himself, left-handed and clumsy, to Theon’s smug amusement. </p><p>After that sad excuse of a bath Theon helps Jon into a fresh shirt he acquired from gods know where and back into bed, stuffing an additional pillow behind his back so he can sit upright. It’s nice, Jon muses as he leans back, having Theon jump to his every need. Ironic, too, considering how much he loathed the idea of being Jon’s thrall. </p><p>“I’m thirsty,” Jon says, peering at Theon as coyly as he can. “Can I have some water please?” </p><p>Theon stops stoking the fire, straightening and giving Jon a shrewd glance. “Is that an <em> order, </em>my lord?” </p><p>“Maybe?” Jon shrugs, not even trying to hide his amusement. “Do I have to reckon with some kind of retribution?” </p><p>For a moment Theon just gapes at Jon, but then he slowly starts to smirk. He stalks over, leaning down and placing a soft kiss on Jon’s mouth. </p><p>“Consider this my retribution for the time being,” he murmurs. “Hmmm, maybe another one, because you’re insolent and fussy and demanding.” </p><p>“That’s three more,” Jon states, and when Theon kisses him again Jon kisses back with all his power – which, sadly, isn’t great at the moment. </p><p>“Soon, Snow,” Theon whispers as he buries his face in Jon’s hair, nosing at his neck. “Once you are able to take a piss by yourself, alright?” </p><p>He laughs when Jon shoves him away with about as much force as a drifting feather, then goes to fetch him his water and watches Jon drink. Something has changed between them, <em> Theon </em> has changed. All bitterness is gone, he seems giddy, and gentle, his japes coming without bite… he continues to call Jon by his name, most of the time. It makes Jon feel good, despite the strange situation, despite his arm still smarting and the fact that he’s utterly exhausted from taking a few steps. Whatever it is that makes Theon behave like this… Jon fervently hopes it will last. </p><p>“When are we going to go on?” he asks. “We’ve lost three days already, you said. Including today.” </p><p>“Drowned fuck, you can’t stand up longer than a moment but riding is fine, eh?” Theon rolls his eyes as he folds some clothes a girl had brought, freshly washed. “Not before I say you’re well enough. Don’t worry about the time. I sent word to Maester Luwin, told him we had a delay. He’ll tell your father and your uncle up North. All’s well. Besides…” Theon comes over, tucking the blanket tighter around Jon’s shoulders. “I’m tired, too. No one ever tells you how exhausting it is, nursing stubborn little pricks back to health.” </p><p>“Alright, that’s it. No more sleeping in a chair for you tonight.” Jon wriggles under his blankets. “I’m fine, there’s room enough in this bed.” </p><p>“Jon, I don’t think that’s a good–” </p><p>“You <em> will </em> sleep in the bed tonight,” Jon says firmly. “And yes, you can very much consider that an order.” </p><p>“Cheeky brat,” Theon mutters. “You’re having way too much fun with this.” His face changes, the mock exasperation vanishing and turning to something more gentle. “I made it very hard for you, aye?” </p><p>“Stop it, Theon.” Jon frees his arm, extending it to Theon’s hand, and to his surprise Theon laces their fingers together. “Whatever it is you’re beating yourself up over, stop.” </p><p>For a moment Theon says nothing, only describes tiny circles with his thumb in Jon’s palm. “I thought of what would happen if you died,” he finally says. “I imagined–” </p><p>“You’d have been free,” Jon says, understanding dawning on him. “You realized how me being – you knew you would have been released from the bond.” </p><p>It makes sense now, all of it, the gentle care, the complete alteration of Theon’s behaviour… he’s trying to atone for thinking of – a small something in Jon aches at that, that Theon would have considered… but he <em> didn’t.</em> Instead he stayed, did everything he could to save Jon. Jon’s heart expands in his chest until he can barely breathe. </p><p>“I’m so sorry, Jon,” Theon says urgently. “It was only for one moment and I haven’t stopped hating myself for it since and…” He looks up, his eyes wide and pleading. “You have to believe me. I don’t want you gone, no matter – I’ve hated the bond, will hate it again at times, but…” </p><p>Jon pulls at Theon’s hand until he comes to him, lays down beside him. Theon buries his head against Jon’s shoulder, and Jon wraps his left arm around him, pressing a kiss to Theon’s head. </p><p>“You’re my friend, Jon,” Theon whispers, almost inaudible. “My family. Whatever happens, I belong to you.”</p><p>Jon knows Theon means the bond, but the way he says it… This is something new, something Jon never thought he’d feel – least of all for Theon Greyjoy. So far there had only been Robb, his brother and best friend. But now there’s Theon, Theon who calls Jon by his name and sees him as a friend, as family… it makes things between them so much easier – and so much more complicated. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I hope you liked it, after all the fighting and struggling, a little reprieve before it starts all over again lol</p><p>Thoughts? Comments? Please? 😬</p><p>@Buena, sorry there wasn't a real bath... you might want to watch out for Chapter 35 (at the moment it's 35 at least 🙂)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Chapter 23</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello and welcome to Sappyland II 😊</p><p>Gentle warning for gross overuse of italics, I guess ^^</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Lower,” Jon says, groaning when Theon complies. “Harder… come on, Greyjoy, I’m not made of glass!” </p><p>“You can scratch your back yourself if you don’t shut up right now,” Theon gripes, but he doesn’t stop until Jon sinks back with a satisfied sigh. “You’re really enjoying this, eh?” </p><p>“Ordering you around? Aye, it has its vantages.” Jon sits up, pleased when it doesn’t cause a headrush. “I’m ordering you to let me go outside.”  </p><p>“You’ve been outside.” </p><p>“For about half a minute before you herded me back inside. People might think I’m sick or so. Which I’m not.” </p><p>Jon swings his legs out of bed. Two more days of staying mostly beneath the furs and eating every drop of broth available in the seven kingdoms have done wonders, and Jon has started to almost feel like before. He gets up, wanders to the window where he inconspicuously leans against the sill. </p><p>“There, see? Good as new.” </p><p>“I can see your legs trembling, Snow.” Theon sits down on the bed, giving Jon a mock stern glance. “One more day. Tomorrow we’ll try – slowly, and you’ll be riding with me.”</p><p>“Dumb idea,” Jon says. “The poor horse.” </p><p>“We can change horses around midday. If we go slow – <em> slow, </em> Jon, not galloping like the wind – they’ll be fine.” </p><p>“Fine,” Jon echoes with a sigh. Anything as long as they’re <em> moving</em>. “But not tomorrow. Today. I’m sick of this room.” </p><p>“Really? I thought we have it quite cozy here.” Upon Jon’s glare Theon narrows his eyes. “Alright, what can I do so you’ll give me one more day?” </p><p>While Theon pretends to think hard, Jon bites his lip to stay quiet. He hopes Theon will come to the right conclusion himself. The last few days since Jon had felt better it had been hard not to break the oath he swore himself, to never initiate any kind of… contact. But the more his strength returns, the edgier Jon feels, and having Theon’s warm, naked body next to him night after night for almost a week without anything happening… It’s infuriating. They will lie side by side, sometimes facing each other, Theon will talk about this or that until Jon dozes off. And always he wakes up with Theon’s arms around him, with Theon’s leg over his, and – that’s it. Jon sighs heavily. </p><p>“Hm, there’s a thought.” Theon smirks, turning onto his side and giving Jon his best come-hither look. “Lay down, on your back.” </p><p>Jon suppresses a grin at the commanding tone as he staggers back to the bed and does as he’s told. As much fun as it is, ordering Theon around, there’s something squirming in his stomach when Theon takes control like this. Jon relaxes back into the pillows, and Theon is over him in a heartbeat, kissing him harder than the last days, deliberate and hungry. Jon moans into the kiss, slinging his arm around Theon’s neck to make him linger, to get more, but after a moment Theon breaks away, grinning in the familiar, smug fashion. </p><p>“Nah-uh,” he makes, clicking his tongue reproachfully. “Seems you have forgotten who the bitch is between the two of us. I’m going to have to remind you.” </p><p>And with that he kisses Jon thoroughly once more before he’s gone, trailing gentle bites and more kisses along Jon’s jaw, down his neck and his chest, to his stomach and – Jon jolts when warm breath hits his prick; he fumbles for Theon’s hair, tangling his finger in the soft locks. </p><p>“Theon – you don’t have to–”</p><p>“Aye, I know I don’t have to,” comes Theon’s voice from below. “Now shut up – or no, don’t shut up, I have no idea what I’m doing.” </p><p>And then Jon cries out when he feels himself engulfed in wet warmth. This… this is… gods have mercy… Theon says he doesn’t know what he’s doing, but it doesn’t feel like it, it only feels… </p><p>“Good,” Jon groans, head falling back. “So good… gods…” </p><p>It’s hard to find words, but whenever Jon says anything Theon doubles his efforts. He’s breathing hard through his nose, one hand gripping Jon’s thigh tightly as he moves his head up and down, curls his tongue, licks and sucks, making Jon want to die like this. </p><p>“Yes – just like that – I want – I <em> want–</em>” </p><p>Jon presses his lips together, desperate not to say the wrong thing, afraid of ruining it. To have Theon do this to him is something Jon never thought possible, he’ll be damned if he goes too far. </p><p>“What? You want what?” Theon has pulled off, keeps stroking Jon’s length with his hand. Jon looks at him, at his heated face, his wide, arrogant mouth. Theon licks his lips, coughs. “Jon, tell me what you want. Forget about – just do it.” The last words are a whisper, so quiet Jon almost doesn’t catch them.<em> “Order me.” </em></p><p>A wave of heat spikes through Jon at that; his back arches when Theon takes him in his mouth again. </p><p>“Yes,” he groans, “harder – I said, <em> harder </em> – touch me, Theon – gods, you–”</p><p>Theon moans around Jon and the vibrations are all it takes; Jon’s fingers in Theon’s hair tighten warningly and Theon pulls off just in time, his hand wraps around Jon’s prick and Jon explodes. </p><p>“I’d say that was mildly successful.” </p><p>The words reach Jon’s fuzzy mind, and when he manages to lift his head, Theon gives him a smug grin, already wiping at Jon’s sensitive skin with a cloth before Jon even got his breath back. </p><p>“Mildly, aye,” he gasps. “Fuck me…”</p><p>“<em>No</em>–” Theon starts before he frowns. “Oh. You didn’t mean that.” </p><p>“You can,” Jon offers, eyeing the tent in Theon’s breeches. He’s rock hard, and Jon shivers pleasantly when he thinks about the things Theon’s cock can do to him. “I don’t mind.”</p><p>“Oh, you don’t <em> mind.</em>” Theon snorts. “How very generous of you, my lord and saviour, not to <em> mind </em> when I bless you with my Ironborn cock.”</p><p>“You know what I mean.” Jon props himself up, grimacing when his right arm smarts at the movement. This is dangerously close to outright begging Theon to fuck him. “If I didn’t like it, I wouldn't let you – and I’m perfectly fine, I can take it.” </p><p>“The only thing you’re taking today, if you want to ride tomorrow, is a fucking big spoonful of that herbal stuff the maester sent from Winterfell.” Theon pulls a blanket over Jon’s naked body. “Don’t you worry your pretty head about my cock, Snow. I can go a few days without emptying my balls in someone.”</p><p>“Since when,” Jon mutters insolently, heat rising in his face – from the warm blanket or Theon’s crudeness he can’t say. “You were so desperate to stick it in a whore you thought you have to seduce me for coin.” </p><p>“That was different.” Theon shrugs, turning to face Jon with a calculating expression. “If I fuck you to a limp tomorrow, can we postpone our departure for another day?” </p><p>“No.” Jon sighs, turns to his side. “Why the fuck are you so reluctant to go?” </p><p>“I’m not exactly keen on freezing my arse off at the Wall,” Theon says, rolling his eyes when Jon gives him a withering glare. “I don’t know, okay? Maybe because… it’s like a different world in here. Not Jon Snow, the bastard of Winterfell and his charge Theon Greyjoy, son of a traitor.” Theon sighs, comes back to the bed. He takes Jon’s hand, bringing it to his mouth. “I like this,” he mumbles. “I like being able to do this without feeling like a dumb wench.”</p><p>“I like it too,” Jon says quietly. “But that doesn’t have to–”</p><p>“But it will! Once we leave everything’s going to be just like before. You’ll be Snow and I’ll be resenting you for being my guardian. Or do you think we could ride into Castle Black like that?” Theon lifts their laced fingers. “This isn’t us, Jon. Not how we ought to be.”</p><p>“And how,” Jon says sadly, “do you think we ought to be?” </p><p>“That remains to be seen.” Theon puts Jon’s hand down, gets to his feet. “Go to sleep. If you want to leave on the morrow, you’re going to need your strength. I’ll be downstairs with Kyrt, settle some things. Don’t wait up.” </p><p>He leaves the room without looking at Jon again. Maybe he’s right, Jon thinks as he curls up beneath the blanket. Here they are somehow removed from the outside world, in their own little space. It’s as if nothing else exists. And Theon is right in another regard: It can’t last like this forever. Jon wishes it would. He wants to take what they have with them, to the Wall and back home to Winterfell. It’s impossible. Theon couldn’t bear it, being the bastard’s charge <em> and </em> his friend. He needs that harsh facade, his japes, like a knight needs armour. Only like this can he live with the situation as it is, by showing the world he doesn’t care. </p><p>When Theon comes back late into the night, staggering and reeking of ale, Jon is still awake, has made his decision. He quietly waits until Theon has slipped into bed, has wrapped his arm around Jon’s waist, before he turns to face him. </p><p>“One more day,” he whispers, gasping when Theon pulls him close without a word.</p><p>One more day like this – and then they’ll go back to the real world, to Snow and Greyjoy, charge and guardian, bastard and traitor’s son. But one small thing Jon knows he won’t leave behind again, one that has forever been altered. No matter how things between them will be – he belongs to Theon, as much or even more as Theon belongs to him. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Say goodbye to Sappyland! *waves*<br/>But not to despair, there's traces of it ahead of us. Among a bit of angst. </p><p>Hope you liked it, dears ❤️</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Chapter 24</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi, guys! </p><p>So, I did tell you we had to leave Sappyland and leave they did... but it isn't that easy to get rid off completely. Very much to Theon's annoyance and confusion.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Turns out, going back to the way things were before isn’t happening as easily as Theon hoped it would. He finds himself watching Jon like a stupid mother hen, anxiously looking for any sign of tiredness or discomfort. It’s annoying, and exhausting, being so fixated on another person. Theon’s not used to that. And to make matters worse, it’s impossible to stop the whole <em> Jon </em> thing. Theon tries, calls him Snow to his face – but in his head he’s Jon now – in his head and at night in his arms. It feels like a permanent thing. </p><p>It’s not something he’s very experienced in, feeling such a closeness to someone. To Jon, of all people. It’s not that long ago that Theon thought him to be the dullest person in the North and beyond. Always walking around like a sullen shadow, radiating self-pity for being a bastard, never acknowledging how lucky he actually is. He’s got a father who loves him, favours him even, siblings who adore him – well, most of them – and a home. Theon has neither of those things, always felt like being treated less than a bastard. Sure, Lady Catelyn isn’t exactly fond of Jon and serves to makes his life a lot more difficult, and Ned Stark would never have the guts to oppose his wife in that matter. But all in all… </p><p>Theon sighs, watching Jon as he slows his horse to a halt and vanishes in the bushes at the side of the road. He’s been unjust towards him. The fact that they’re here, not in Winterfell to welcome Jon’s brother back after his long absence, shows that things aren’t as easy as Theon made them out to be. He’s come to know Jon better, since the righteous idiot thought he had to pledge himself to Theon, and while the righteousness is annoying – there’s so much more to Jon. It’s been shining through before, with all of Jon’s clumsy but well-meant attempts to console Theon whenever he’d felt horrible, his efforts not to let Theon feel the power he has over him. Jon’s been there for him from the start, and Theon had done his best not to see it. </p><p>And now that he has, it’s bloody impossible to unsee it again. This past week… it hadn’t been just guilt. At first, yes, but the weight dropping off him when the fever had broken, when Jon had been out of immediate danger… Theon shudders, remembers how scared he had been. And then relief… and an overwhelming rush of something dangerously close to affection. It still scares Theon, how fast his heart had beat every time Jon had looked at him with that warm almost-smile. It had been like a spell, that week, surreal and addicting. Weakening. Theon can’t afford to have anyone think he’s weak, has meekly accepted his new status. It’s nobody else’s business, a thing between him and Jon. </p><p>“We should start looking for a place to spend the night,” he says when Jon comes back from his excursion. “Two more days, Snow, and we should arrive at Mole’s Town.” </p><p>“We really could sleep outside.” Jon gives Theon a pouty glance as he mounts his horse. “<em>Greyjoy</em>,” he adds pettily as he trots away. </p><p>Theon grins as he goads his horse to go faster. Poor Jon, that one really gets to him. Maybe they’ll be lucky and find a place with a bed tonight, then he can make it up to him. </p><p>“We’re definitely <em> not </em> sleeping outside,” he says when he’s caught up with Jon. “You just had a life-threatening fever, man, do you want to go through that again? No? Well, me neither, and that’s why we’ll sleep somewhere with walls. You got enough silver from your father, no need to be so stingy. I, on the other hand, am tragically coinless.”</p><p>“I offered to pay you back for the inn!” Jon huffs, clearly annoyed. “Not my fault that you insisted on paying that, now stop complaining.” </p><p>If they were somewhere private, Theon could reach over, snatch Jon’s cloak and end the argument in a way that more often than not leads to Jon being all flustered and giving in to whatever Theon wants. But they’re not. At any time a rider could come from either direction, a farmer could cross their way. So Theon settles for giving Jon a broad smile and rides ahead. There’ll be a time for riling Jon up further, and simultaneously making amends. </p><p>Over the next few days it gets harder not to worry. Jon gets more quiet and sullen the nearer they come to their destination. He looks to be deep in thought, barely reacting to Theon’s chatting and japing; he doesn’t even seem to mind when Theon calls him Snow. Something’s wrong with him, and when Theon insists on taking a break Jon just silently chews on a piece of dried meat, aimlessly staring in the direction they’re going. The Wall has been visible for some time now, a pale, blue line across the horizon, glittering in the sunlight. But not even that sight has elicited any emotion from Jon. Theon watches him for a moment, then finally decides he has had enough of it. </p><p>“Hey, Snow, if I ever met your mother I’d be very tempted to find out if you got your extraordinary cocksucking skills from her.” </p><p>Theon holds his breath and waits, for Jon to give him an angry glare or his hurt-puppy-look, or turn around and simply punch Theon in the face – he nods. Jon fucking <em> nods, </em> clearly hasn’t been listening, and with a muttered curse Theon walks over, slapping his hand on Jon’s forehead. That at least gets Jon’s attention; he starts, staring at Theon with wide eyes. </p><p>“You’re not having a fever again,” Theon declares, tempted to keep his hand where it is, or maybe let his fingers sift through the silky curls… “Are you tired? Any pain? Talk to me, Snow.” </p><p>“It’s nothing,” Jon says, and then he sighs and moves out of Theon’s reach. </p><p>“I just made a lewd joke about your mother and am still alive.” Theon raises his eyebrows. “And the last time you said it was <em> nothing </em>I had to snatch you out of death’s grasp.”</p><p>Jon mumbles something Theon can’t make out, but before he can ask Jon has already climbed on his horse and is riding on. For a moment Theon just stares after him, before he hisses a particularly nasty curse and follows. Jon doesn’t say a single word for the rest of the way, not when they ride into Mole’s Town late in the evening, not when Theon gets them a room at the sole inn – very primitive, with a red lantern hanging in front of the door that tells Theon a lot about the true nature of this… establishment. Only when Theon asks him if he wants to eat a bite in the taproom does Jon react; he looks around, at a couple of ugly wenches entertaining an even uglier man dressed in the black garb of the Night’s Watch. </p><p>“I’m not hungry,” he says. “I’m going to bed.” </p><p>Annoyed, Theon contemplates to just leave him be, let him figure out whatever is bothering him on his own. He surveys the room, recounting the coin he’s got left in his head. It’s been ages since he had a girl, ever since fucking Jon had started to become a regular thing, and maybe it’d be good to – one of the girls catches on to his interest, giving him a toothy smile. She’s not very pretty, but then a whore doesn’t have to be. He’s been spoiled with Ros, but most of them… Theon tries to dig up a spark of enthusiasm, but there’s nothing, not even a tiny flicker. Angry with himself Theon shakes his head and turns to go after Jon. </p><p>Jon hasn’t gone to bed. He sits on it, bent forward, his face buried in his hands, looking like the picture of misery. It makes something tighten in Theon’s chest, and instead of snapping at Jon like he meant to he sits down beside him – only for Jon to turn away. </p><p>“What have I done, hm?” Theon asks. “Tell me and I can apologize. Is it the Snow thing?”</p><p>“You can call me whatever you like,” Jon mutters. He takes a deep breath, rubs his eyes. “It doesn’t matter. Snow, bastard… it’s what I am. It’ll never change. I better get used to it.” </p><p>“What the – where is this coming from all of a sudden? Jon, look at me.” </p><p>Jon shakes his head. “Can’t, not right now. It’s not your fault, but I can’t – give me a moment, alright? I’ll get over it.” </p><p>Not his fault… Theon doesn’t understand what Jon is on about. Aye, he’s a bastard. But that’s nothing new, he’s always been one, and it’s not as if there ever was much of a chance that could change someday, not as long as Lady Catelyn is still breathing. And what’s that about it not being <em> his </em> fault, how could he – oh. Theon inhales sharply when he realizes what this is about. The Night’s Watch. Jon had always talked of becoming a Brother of the Watch one day, had hoped to gain honour in serving the realm. It had been his dream. And now…</p><p>“You could still do it, you know,” Theon says as casually as he can. </p><p>“And condemn you to live the life of an outlaw?” Jon snorts. “Aye, bloody likely. I knew what I was doing when I invoked the law. What I was giving up. But right now – I’m finally here, I made it almost to the Wall. But not to stay, not to take an oath. To deliver some books that could have been brought here by anyone, because I’m not wanted in my own home. And it’ll never be different. I’ll be living in Winterfell, Father’s shameful mistake, and one day I’ll be my brother’s problem.” </p><p>“I’m sorry,” Theon says, not knowing what else there is to say. </p><p>“I don’t blame you. It wasn’t you who rebelled against the king, was it? And I can’t remember you asking me to take the pledge. I thought I’m content with the way my life will look like...” Jon sighs, shakes his head. “I’m just whining. Ignore me. I’ll sleep it over and tomorrow we’ll go to Castle Black. Maybe I’ll hate it there anyway.” </p><p>He turns his head, giving Theon a weak, narrow smile. Theon kisses him, the only way he can think of to maybe take Jon’s mind off of it. It’s seldom that Theon finds himself lost for words, but what on earth can he say to him now? <em> I’m sorry you gave up your dream for me. I’m sorry I’m standing in your way. </em> But Theon isn’t sorry, not really. He’s alive, and as long as he’s with Jon he’s safe. Theon pushes him down against the ratty blankets covering the bed, fumbling both their breeches open. It doesn’t take long, a couple hasty strokes and Jon is hard, a few drops of oil and a violent push and Theon is in him, clinging to him, taking him. How can he be sorry if it lead them to this? </p><p>Jon lets him, takes everything, giving himself so wholly, so unconditionally – and then, suddenly, there is a new word filling Theon’s thoughts, a long buried memory. A new name for Jon. He doesn’t remember its meaning, only remembers his mother’s voice as she called her husband, her lord and master, by it, so tender, so unlike anything else Theon remembers from the harsh islands. A word in the forgotten tongue of the Ironborn, a word he doesn’t dare to say out loud, doesn’t want to think about, what it could mean. But somehow he knows it belongs to Jon. <em> Elska.  </em></p><p>It’s only later, when they are both on the brink of falling asleep, that Theon thinks to ask. </p><p>“Jon?” he whispers, searching for his hand in the dark. “Was it worth it?” </p><p>The silence stretches for so long Theon is sure Jon must have fallen asleep – that, or the answer is no. So when it finally comes, Theon doesn’t know if it’s real or already the beginning of a dream.</p><p>“Yes,” he thinks he hears Jon say. “You are.” </p><p>
  <em> Elska.  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I wanted an old, extinct Ironborn language. My headcanon for this fic is Rodrik Harlaw (Theon's maternal and sole non-crazy uncle) studying it, and maybe Alannys used it too at times. </p><p>Seeing as Ironborn do have some things in common with the good old Vikings, I decided to go with Old Norse (or a butchered version of it, more like). Now you could just go and google what 'elska' means – or you could wait and find out together with Jon later on. (Theon, deep down, knows what it means, but he firmly pretends it's something else.)</p><p>Anyway, hope you liked this chapter and Theon's futile attempts to firmly set foot in the real world again.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. Chapter 25</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Aaaand we're at the Wall! </p><p>I felt cold writing this chapter XD</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It had been already dark when they’d arrived at Mole’s Town last night, and he’d not been paying attention, but now, in the broad daylight, it’s breathtaking. Jon stares and stares, can’t open his eyes wide enough to take it all in. The Wall had seemed like a distant miracle along the way, unfathomable. Not real. Now it is very near, looming over them and making Jon feel smaller than ever. Theon beside him is quiet, he, too, is staring at the massive structure with awe on his face. Castle Black is clinging to the ice, dwarfed by it, and when they ride up to the gate it opens before they have reached it. </p><p>“Jon!” </p><p>Jon smiles when his uncle comes out to greet them; he hops from his horse and lets Benjen pull him into a crushing embrace. He’s always loved him, admired him, envied him. A younger brother, not of much importance in Winterfell – here he is First Ranger. Here he is important. </p><p>“You look thin, lad.” Benjen takes a step back, holding Jon at arm length, studying his face. “I heard you had a spot of trouble on the way up?” </p><p>“Long story.” Jon shrugs, embarrassed. To be almost taken out by some tiny scratches isn’t something he wants to boast about. “It’s good to see you, Uncle Benjen.” </p><p>Benjen claps Jon’s shoulder before he turns to Theon, a curious half-smile on his face. </p><p>“Theon,” he says with a curt nod. “You alright there?”</p><p>Jon looks over, biting his lip to suppress a smile. Theon is huddled on his horse, his warmest cloak tightly clasped around his shoulders. He’s shivering, his lips blue, and Jon rolls his eyes. Aye, it’s cold, but it’s still summer, no need to be so dramatic. He watches Theon stiffly climb off his horse, taking Benjen’s offered hand. </p><p>“Come on, lads, I’ll show you around.” </p><p>Benjen walks ahead and Jon, after giving Theon an encouraging glance, follows suit. He listens to Benjen talking, pointing out this and that as he leads them across the yard where a couple of young men are shooting arrows at a target. They’re not very good, and Jon can hear Theon mumbling under his breath. Jon looks around curiously. There are towers and keeps, mostly timbered, and Jon tries to keep up with what Benjen shows them. </p><p>The Lord Commander’s tower (“You’ll meet him later, he’s out with a party of rangers.”), the Lance, the Tower of the Guards, the Flint Barracks… it’s a lot to take in. Some Brothers of the Watch are occupied with restoring a crumbling wall, a few others seem to just stand around and chat. Two of them are stepping into some sort of cage, another one walks up to a winder, and Jon’s mouth falls open as the cage creaks ominously – and starts to move up the Wall! </p><p>“Well, fuck me,” Theon chatters beside Jon. “Good to know we won’t have to climb all those stairs to get on top.” </p><p>“I’ll take you up there later,” Benjen says, eyes crinkling as he smiles. “The sight isn’t good yet, too foggy. You won’t see a thing. First I’ll take you to the library and then I’m going to show you to your quarters. Lord Commander Mormont thought to host you in the King’s Tower, but there hasn’t been a king to visit for so long the rooms have become inhabitable.” </p><p>“Flint barracks then?” Jon asks, proud that he remembers the name. </p><p>“You wouldn’t want to sleep there if you don’t have to.” Benjen smirks, pointing at yet another tower. “You’re going to use my own chamber in the Silent Tower. It has a large hearth and thick, sturdy walls. Can’t have you lads freeze to death at night, can I?” </p><p>Theon snorts amidst his teeth-chattering. Benjen gives him an amused glance. </p><p>“Now let’s show you to the library. You can talk to the maester while I go and see if there are any additional pelts I have lying around.” </p><p>The library is situated in the vaults, beneath the ground. It’s a dark room, smelling of dust and old paper. They are greeted by an old man who Benjen introduces as Maester Aemon. He has a kind face, his eyes a milky blue, and when Jon presents him with the books Maester Luwin sent, he doesn’t take them at once, just palming them for a moment before he smiles at a point somewhere behind Jon’s shoulder. He’s blind, Jon realizes with a start. </p><p>“Thank you for your kind service, young master Snow,” the maester says. His voice is thin and brittle. He must be ancient. “If you laid the books on the table… I’ll ask one of the brothers to help me put them away.” </p><p>“I can help,” Theon says suddenly. </p><p>Jon turns around, giving him an astonished glance. Theon? Offering to help all by himself without orders to do so? Theon shrugs when he catches Jon’s gaze, nodding at the fire. Jon rolls his eyes. Oh, of course. </p><p>“Thank you, Theon Greyjoy,” the maester says. “The library is one of the warmer rooms here, that much is certain.”  </p><p>Theon ducks his head, looking sheepish. It makes Jon smile. The old man might be blind, but he’s seeing a lot. Jon delivers Maester Luwin’s greetings, and then Benjen is back, carrying a stack of pelts he unceremoniously shoves into Theon’s arms. They follow Benjen out of the vaults, through a tunnel and up an endless flight of stairs until Benjen opens a door, warm firelight flooding out. </p><p>“It’s small but cozy,” he says, waving them inside. “I hope you’re alright with sharing a bed, but after the long journey you ought to be used to it.” </p><p>“It’s fine,” Jon says curtly, hoping Benjen will attribute his red cheeks to the warmth of the fire.</p><p>“If you like, I can show you the rest, the Common Hall, the Shield Hall… if you lads want to I’ll take you through the tunnel that leads to the forest beyond the Wall.”</p><p>“Thanks, Uncle,” Jon says warmly. He’s curious, wants to see everything. This could’ve been his home, had the circumstances been different. “We’ll be right with you.” </p><p>Benjen nods, the door closes behind him, Jon turns to Theon – and starts laughing. He’s almost sitting inside of the fireplace, still shivering like a leaf, despite the pelt he’s slung around his shoulders. </p><p>“You don’t look like you’re very keen on seeing more of the place,” Jon says teasingly. </p><p>“Not interested at all,” Theon chatters. “This is <em> horrible. </em>Everything’s dreary and grey and awful. Have you seen the looks of those men? Apart from your uncle and the maester I swear I haven’t seen a single man who doesn’t look like a common thug.” </p><p>“It’s still summer,” Jon remarks with a shrug. “Just imagine we’d be here in Winter. And Winter is–”</p><p>“Coming, yes, yes, I know.” Theon chuckles. “There’s too much Stark in you, <em> elska.</em>”</p><p>Elska? Jon frowns, not knowing what Theon means with that. Probably just an insult in Ironborn, so he lets it slide. “Do you want me to stay with you?”</p><p>“Don’t be ridiculous, Snow. Go with your uncle, and I’ll keep my promise to the old man.” Theon grins. “A little time apart from me might do you some good. At least I know I’m looking forward to a few hours without having to see your long face.” </p><p>“But you will come when Benjen takes us to the top of the Wall,” Jon states, cringing when it comes out a tad too commanding. </p><p>“Oh, if my lord and master wishes it, how could I protest? At your service, as always.” Theon makes a low, mocking bow, and then he yelps when this accidentally brings his behind too close to the flames. He rubs it, giving Jon a sour glance. “Just fuck off, Snow. See you at the top of the fucking Wall.” </p><p>The rest of the day Jon spends with Benjen. He gets introduced to some of Benjen’s brothers, learns how the tunnel gate is opened, visits the rookery and the Shield Hall were men used to hang their shields adorned with their houses’ sigils before taking up the plain shield of the Watch… It makes Jon’s heart heavy, to see all of it as a mere visitor. But Theon is right, Jon can see what he means. It’s a rough place, cold and uncomfortable. It’s not like Jon thought it would be. But Benjen is here, Benjen has lived like this for almost eighteen years. It’s his home. He seems content. </p><p>The sun is almost setting when they collect Theon from the library, covered in dust and regaling Maester Aemon with the story of Jon’s miraculous recovery and Theon’s own heroic efforts that brought it upon. Benjen lets them walk into the cage, and Jon’s stomach flutters nervously as they start to descend up the Wall. At the top the cage stops and Jon steps out. The surface is broad, wider than Jon thought it would be, like a white, shimmering road stretching into eternity. There’s a shack near the cage, and a stack of unlit torches. It’s even colder up here and Jon looks for Theon, shivering again in his borrowed pelt. And then Jon forgets about the cold when he steps up to the edge, when he looks upon the lands beyond the Wall. </p><p>They’re endless, forests and mountains as far as the eye can see, beneath the darkening horizon. Jon stares and stares, can’t get enough of it. His heart is beating wildly in his chest; he can hardly feel the cold. It’s… Jon doesn’t have the words to describe it. <em> Beautiful </em> is inadequate. Nothing is adequate. Something touches Jon’s hand, startling him. He looks up, at Theon coming to stand at his side. His face is pale, his eyes wide and full of something... He’s not looking at the North, though. His gaze is fixed on the east, on the silvery line between the land and the horizon.</p><p>Jon turns his head, but Benjen isn’t with them anymore, talking to a man a few yards away, and after a moment of hesitation Jon takes Theon’s hand, squeezing it tightly. It rips Theon out of his thoughts; he turns his face to Jon. His eyes are wet, full of pain. </p><p>“The sea,” he whispers, “I can see the sea.” </p><p>Something in his voice makes Jon’s heart ache, desperate and broken. Theon looks back east, he trembles, a single tear running down his cheek and dropping into the pelt, and suddenly Jon knows what to do. He searches his pockets for the second canine, hesitating for just a moment before taking it out. </p><p>“I already gave you one token,” he says solemnly. “I promised I will take care of you. And now I’m promising you this, Theon: You will see the sea again. I’ll take you to the sea, I swear it on my life. No matter how we do it, but I’ll take you to the sea.” </p><p>He reaches out, takes Theon’s hand, lets the tiny earring glide into it. Theon stares down on it, his lips moving but no sound coming from him. His fingers close around this second token, he looks up at Jon, and then Theon’s arms are around him, here, where anyone can see them, pulling Jon close. Jon doesn’t care, just holds onto him, muttering promises into Theon’s hair, the realization thick in his throat. It had been simmering inside him for some time, building from anger and sympathy and the beginning of a tentative friendship. It had been confusing, frightening, had Jon’s mind reeling. But now… there’s no doubt anymore, not to Jon. This is so much more than what he knew before. Theon is his to care for, his to protect. </p><p>He’d do anything for him, anything for the man he loves. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So. Jon does know his heart, and has symbolically handed it over along with the earring. </p><p>Can I hear a wahoo for the earring? Finally had its appearance lol</p><p>Also I found nothing on if you can really see the sea from Castle Black, but the beauty of fanfiction is that I can just say so and bam! There's the sea. </p><p>My dears, there is angst to come soon... but first I decided to sneak in another sweet chapter on Monday. Watch out for angst next Friday 😈</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0026"><h2>26. Chapter 26</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello, everybody^^</p><p>So, I promised another sweet chapter before the angst, but I kinda lied – it's sweet alright, but also smutty lol</p><p>@Buena: banging a-coming lol</p><p>Get ready for: that earring again, a lesson in Ironborn hairstyle fashion, lots of sex and the inevitable moment in a Greysnow fic set in canon verse where Theon talks about Jon being his salt wife XD</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Does it look good?” </p><p>Theon turns his head, tilts his chin up and down so the light from the fire catches in the earring. It looks ghastly, Jon thinks, but Theon is so thrilled he doesn’t have the heart to say it. </p><p>“Rakish,” Jon says instead, “very dashing.” </p><p>Theon’s smile impossibly widens as he takes out his dirk, trying to see his reflection in the blade. Jon, sitting crosslegged on the bed, watches in fond exasperation. After a very noisy dinner with Benjen and the rest of Castle Black’s inhabitants they had retired to Benjen’s chamber where Jon had pierced Theon’s ear with a blackened needle, among much caterwauling and bitching. Now the canine is merrily dangling about whenever Theon moves. Whatever, Jon tells himself, Theon’s so happy… he’ll get used to it. </p><p>“Hmp,” Theon makes, giving up on trying to see himself. His gaze when he turns to Jon is warm, his eyes glittering with mirth. “Have you really been carrying that around with you since I mentioned it?”</p><p>“Well, no,” Jon says. “Only since Mikken has finished it.” </p><p>“It’s… thank you. It means a lot.” Theon’s cheeks take on a slightly pink tinge in the firelight. “Bet my family would piss themselves if they could see me. What has little Theon ever done to earn it, eh? And they’d be right. What shore did I pillage? Which settlement did I reave, what did I conquer?” </p><p>Jon opens his mouth, but the joke is so obvious he closes it again. Theon, apparently turned mind reader, chuckles, coming over to where Jon is sitting. He bends down, dangling earring and all, stroking Jon’s hair behind his ears. </p><p>“Aye, you’re a damn conquest, Snow,” he says, and then his mouth is on Jon’s, plundering, <em> conquering</em>. </p><p>Theon’s hands work fast, almost tearing the layers off Jon and himself. He’s rough as he takes Jon, pinning him to the bed with his whole body, hands holding Jon’s captive as he drives into him hard, fast, merciless. Jon buries his face in the pillow, muffles his cries and moans, the things he wants to say and knows he can’t. It’s good, <em> so good, </em>the first time since the fever that Theon fucks him without any restraint, and Jon relishes it, every thrust, every groan ripping from Theon’s throat. It doesn’t last long like this, not for Jon, and with a final, stifled cry he spills, clenching around Theon. He feels the cock inside him pulse, filling him up, Theon’s lips pressed to his nape and another wave washes over Jon, almost making him black out. </p><p>When their breaths have quieted they don’t go to sleep right away, instead just lying in bed, with Theon’s head on Jon’s chest. His seed is slowly dripping out of Jon, staining a bed that isn’t theirs, but Jon cannot bring himself to move. Idly, he strokes Theon’s hair, twisting a soft strand between his fingers. It’s grown so long since this all started, long enough to… Jon’s fingers start moving on their own, and in seconds the little braid is done and Jon takes another strand. </p><p>“What are you doing there?” Theon asks sleepily. </p><p>“In one of the books I read was a description of King Urras Greyiron,” Jon says, smoothing down the second little braid and starting another on the other side of Theon’s head. “They say his hair was long, tied back apart for some parts that were braided, down to his shoulders.” </p><p>“Urras Grey-what?” </p><p>“Greyiron. The first High King of the Iron Islands since the Grey King.” </p><p>“You know more about my homeland’s history than I do.” To Jon’s surprise Theon doesn’t sound bitter when he says it, more curious. “What else did you read about?” </p><p>Jon snorts. “A lot of very disconcerting and confusing stuff about rock and salt wives.” </p><p>“Oh, <em> that </em> I know a lot about.” Theon starts to grin, turning onto his belly to look at Jon. “Confused you, did it? Well, let me enlighten you then.” He tilts his head, placing a kiss in the middle of Jon’s chest. “Every Ironborn has a rock wife, you see. She must be Ironborn as well, she’s the man’s true wife, bearing his trueborn sons.” Another kiss, sharp teeth nipping at the skin. “The rock wives are our duty. A bit boring if you ask me.” A wet tongue drags over Jon’s nipple, making him gasp. “The salt wives on the other hand…” </p><p>Another bite, then Theon slumps to the side, leaning against the pillows. Jon slowly turns to him, not wanting to show his impatience. Why on earth would he stop <em> now</em>? When he sees him looking, Theon grins, waving his hand. </p><p>“Don’t gape at me, come here. There, that’s a good boy,” he adds when Jon obediently straddles his hips. “Where was I?” </p><p>“Salt wives,” Jon mutters, shuddering when he feels something hard at his backside. </p><p>“Aye, salt wives.” Theon’s hands come to lie at Jon’s waist, gripping him tight. “Paid for not with gold but with blood and iron, the fairest of them, taken home to bear us salt sons and satisfy our needs.” </p><p>His fingers wander to Jon’s behind, digging into the cheeks, pulling them apart. Jon bites his lip as he feels Theon’s length nudging at him, finding him still slick and open from before. </p><p>“We might take them with us when we go to sea, down in the cabin – keep you waiting there for me whenever I feel like giving you my cock…” </p><p>He pulls Jon down in the same moment that he thrusts upwards, burying himself whole. Jon’s mouth falls open, a guttural groan coming from his throat as Theon’s hands keep him in place, holding him down. This is new, different, they haven’t done it like this before. It feels good, the position Jon is in, the way Theon fills him up even deeper than when he takes Jon from behind, when he has Jon on his back… Jon rocks his hips experimentally, gasping when this makes Theon’s prick slide out and back in again almost immediately. Gods be good… </p><p>“Aye, you’d make a perfect salt wife,” Theon hisses, fingers digging hard into Jon’s skin. “I’d keep you close at all times, ready for me – my cock – always so – <em> fuck</em>…” </p><p>He throws his head back, elegant throat on display as Jon sets a faster pace, his hands groping at Theon’s chest, palming his nipples. He comes down hard, meeting Theon’s thrusts full on, and every single one keeps hitting his sweet spot. The heat is incredible, building and building until Jon is sure he’s going to catch fire, will be nothing but a heap of charred bones when this is over. His own moans are deafeningly loud, too loud, ringing in Jon’s ears, but he’s unable to stop. This is so <em> perfect, </em> the way he controls the speed and the movements, the way Theon looks  beneath him, coming undone… </p><p>“I’ll go with you,” Jon pants, digging his nails into Theon’s skin and dragging them down as he speeds his glide up and down Theon’s length. “Everywhere, <em> Theon–</em>” </p><p>Jon rocks down hard, the heat inside him peaking, he clenches around Theon, throws his head back as the pressure gets too much – Jon's prick twitches, pulses, and with a stifled cry he spills, losing his vision for just a moment, Theon’s prick pulsing in him and then Theon sits up, his mouth crashing on Jon’s as he fills him with his seed. Jon clings to him, shuddering with the little shocks still running through his body, unwilling to ever move away again. </p><p>“We’ll go together, <em> elska,</em>” Theon whispers, breathless, “I’ll show you the sea – take you in the waves – salt on our skin–” He kisses Jon again, feverish, devours his mouth. “I don’t know – <em> how </em> – but – with you I’m me again, Jon, you make me feel – like – Theon – <em> Greyjoy–</em>”</p><p>Jon can feel him growing hard inside him again, he tangles his fingers in Theon’s sweaty hair, starts to rock against him once more. <em> I love you</em>, he thinks, biting back the sob rising in his throat, ripped away by the waves of what he’s carrying in his heart. <em> Gods help me I love you so much.  </em></p><p>In the morning he’s woken by a clattering sound, and when Jon peers through one eye his gaze falls on Theon, already dressed and putting new logs on the fire. It’s dark, and cold, and Jon’s whole body feels heavy and leaden. There’s nothing they have to do today, except cleaning Benjen’s sheets. Which would be stupid, seeing as they are to stay for another night before they go back home. Benjen had said the Lord Commander is expected to return today, and Jon is curious to meet him. But surely not before the sun has risen, he thinks, closing his eyes again. </p><p>Finally Theon seems to be done with the fire; he mutters something as he walks over to the bed. Jon keeps his eyes closed as he feels a hand in his hair, the gesture so gentle it makes his heart ache. The footsteps move away, an ice-cold gust of air blowing in as the door opens and closes, and Jon is alone, for the first moment since they’d been standing on top of the Wall. Fleetingly, he wonders where Theon might be going this early. Maybe the library, continue his work for Maester Aemon… Jon finds he doesn’t mind. Some time alone with his thoughts is enticing. </p><p>He opens his eyes, turns onto his other side and lets his hand slide to the place where Theon had lain. The sheets are long cold, and Jon takes his hand back, pulling the furs tighter around himself. The only warm spots in the bed are the ones his body touches. Jon moves one foot, just a fraction before he hurriedly pulls it back again. It’s baffling, really. He’s in a closed room with a newly-stoked fire, covered with warm furs, and it’s still so fucking cold. In <em> Summer. </em> There’s no way to even imagine how much worse it will get once Winter has come. And Winter <em> is </em> coming, sooner or later. Maester Luwin says the ravens from the Citadel hint at a long one, maybe years. The thought of spending them <em> here</em>… </p><p>Jon tries to imagine how it would look, a life at the Wall. It’s so very cold, hard, and so are most of the men Jon has met so far. They could’ve been his brothers… Jon grimaces at the thought. Benjen had told him some of their stories. Rapists, thieves, murderers… Not the company he would wish to be in for the rest of his life. Would he find friends among them? Jon bites his lip, trying to shake the thought. Those musings are pointless. He couldn’t ever do this to Theon, forfeit the pledge and make him an outlaw. And now, after all that happened… Jon couldn’t face a life without him, anyway. </p><p>Jon sighs, peering at the small window. It’s light outside by now, and grudgingly he slips out of bed, washing and dressing at utmost speed. He’d sneered at Theon yesterday, but this morning Jon takes one of the pelts Benjen had given them and huddles into it before he ventures out of the door, down the stairs and into the yard. Where, to his eternal surprise, Theon is just showing two young men how to correctly nook an arrow. Jon stalks closer, smiling when he can hear what Theon is saying. </p><p>“...bloody useless. How do you plan on killing Wildlings when you can’t even hit the target?”</p><p>“Enlightening the world with your wisdom, Greyjoy?” </p><p>Jon’s smile gets stuck on its way as he takes in Theon’s appearance. He’s tied his hair back with a piece of string, the braids stroked behind his ears, a few shorter strands falling into his forehead. The effect is… it looks good, even the earring fits into the whole picture now, and Jon’s chest tightens longingly. Theon winks, gives him a small grin before he turns back to the lads.</p><p>“What are you waiting for, keep practising,” he snaps. “I want to see at least two arrows actually <em> in </em> the target, got it?” He comes over to Jon, and for a moment it seems as if Theon means to kiss him, but then he just nods. “Time you got up, you lazy brat. I’ve already earned my breakfast.” </p><p>“Indeed you have,” Uncle Benjen’s voice says behind Jon. He comes to stand next to them, studying Jon’s face with a warm smile. “Well rested, Nephew? How about you share some of your skills as well?” </p><p>Jon looks around, at a few boys that have gathered around them. They look strangely belligerent, and Jon wonders what in the seven hells he has done to earn their wrath. Wouldn’t be too bad, he thinks with a sudden surge of defiance, to take them down a notch or two. So he nods, already starting towards a rack of practice swords when a tug at his pelt holds him back. </p><p>“Are you sure?” Theon asks quietly. His eyes flit to Benjen, talking to the gathered boys, and back to Jon. “You’ve just been sick, Snow. You’re not at the height of your strength.” </p><p>“Strong enough to best you anytime, Greyjoy,” Jon retorts, suppressing the urge to stick out his tongue at Theon. “And surely good enough for <em> them.” </em></p><p>“Careful. They look as if they’re lusting for your blood already.” Theon leans closer. “Kick their arses, <em> elska.</em>” </p><p>That word again… Jon gives Theon a questioning gaze, but before he can ask Benjen is there, holding a sword out to Jon. Jon takes it, shaking off his pelt and thrusting it into Theon’s arms, then turns around and faces three of the boys, swords ready, their eyes sparkling. One of them is burly and tall, one even taller but very thin, the third a square, short one with a cruel face. Jon squares his shoulders as a rush of grim excitement runs through his body. </p><p>“Go on, attack me,” he says, and then they come at him. </p><p>It’s almost too easy. In mere moments Jon has disarmed all three of them, has knocked the big one to the ground and has his sword at the boy’s throat. </p><p>“I yield,” he says gruffly. “Fuckin’ hell…”</p><p>Jon can’t help himself. He’s warm, his blood is singing in his veins… it feels amazing to be good at something, be the best and not second after Robb. He holds his hand out to his opponent, and smiles. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Ok so I searched the Theon fanart tag on tumblr and found an amazingly gorgeous piece of art made by shebsart. It matches the hairstyle I imagined for Theon TO THE POINT and it's amazing and I'm still too stupid to link stuff on here but I reblogged the post yesterday if you want to go over and take a look. </p><p>Next up: happy times get disrupted</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0027"><h2>27. Chapter 27</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey-ho, hope you're all doing well! I know it technically isn't Friday yet (here in Vienna at least) but I want to have a lie-in tomorrow so I'm getting the chapter out now. </p><p>This fic hit 300 kudos today TT_TT<br/>A few more hits and it has surpassed the Vamp AU (don't read that lol) – the only category Law isn't my top fic is bookmarks. That would be Sweet Girl, followed by Master of Pricks :) (yes please go read them ;p) </p><p>THANK YOU ALL so much for your love and enthusiasm! You (and Theon and Jon) are a shining light in a dark world! </p><p>Ok, 'nuff babbled. Theon POV! Mild angst!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Theon leans against the wooden bannister of the narrow stairs. From up here he has a better view over the yard and at Jon. He seems to be in his element, and Theon watches as he teaches the boys how to correctly hold their swords, how to swing them, showing them all the tips and tricks. The two taller ones are hanging onto his every word, doing everything Jon tells them to do. They seem friendly enough, making jokes as Jon sends them to the ground over and over again. The third one… Theon doesn’t like his look at all. As if he wishes he had a real sword to come at Jon with. </p><p>“He’s a natural teacher, isn’t he?” Theon looks up as Benjen Stark joins him, his gaze trained on the yard. “They already look up to him, respect him. He’d make a good leader.” </p><p>Theon grunts in response, gaze wandering back to Jon. The burly one has actually managed to disarm him, and Theon watches as Jon laughs and claps his back. Aye, he’d make a good leader. The way he’s grown into his role as Theon’s guardian so quickly, always so empathic, so thoughtful...</p><p>“He’d do well here,” Benjen says. “He could go far, make First Ranger one day.” </p><p>Theon grimaces. The thought isn’t very nice, Jon holed up here for the rest of his life. What a fucking waste… He gives Benjen a quick side glance. He looks a lot like Ned Stark, curiously older despite being the younger brother, but maybe that’s what living in this hellhole does to you. His face is narrower than his brother’s, kinder. But then that could just be Theon’s imagination. He’ll never think of Ned Stark as anything but a sinister shadow ever again. Still, how can Benjen say Jon would do well here? Someone as warm as Jon in a place as cold as this? How long before it sucks the warmth from him, the life from his veins and the goodness from his heart? Theon shudders at the thought. </p><p>“Still cold?” Benjen asks, misreading Theon’s reaction. “It’s a pity you’re not taking to the cold like Jon. I’ve seen you shoot before, and we could use a marksman like you.” </p><p>“Over my dead body,” Theon mutters, earning a chuckle in return. </p><p>“We do have Brothers from the Iron Islands, did you know?” Theon looks at Benjen, unable to hide his curiosity. Benjen smiles. “Aye, among them a man named Cotter Pyke. He’s commanding the garrison at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. We have several galleys stationed there. We could use someone more… <em> literate </em> than Cotter.” </p><p>Theon snorts derisively, but his mind is reeling from Benjen’s words. Eastwatch… the Night Watch’s castle by the sea, with ships to patrol the bay… maybe he’d get to command his own some day, sail the Narrow Sea… No one would care who his father is, what he did. No one would care that he’s been a Stark ward, not if he shows what he’s capable of…</p><p>“I knew Cotter when he was still here at Castle Black,” Benjen continues. “A brute of a man, violent and rash. He always took his battle axe to bed with him.” </p><p>Theon huffs. “Sounds like my uncle Euron,” he says with a grin.</p><p>“I’ve heard things about that uncle of yours that make Cotter look like a lamb. You look like him, has anyone ever told you? Euron, I mean. I’ve met him once… he wore his hair the same way you do today. Much more metal in his ears, though.” Benjen’s voice is light, casual. “He used to have a name for his axe, Cotter. He called it <em> elska.</em>” </p><p>Theon’s blood seems to freeze, and this time it’s not from the cold air. He concentrates on breathing, in and out, refusing to let the panic take over. He should have been more careful, shouldn’t have said it out loud where anyone could hear him – Benjen must have ears like a shadowcat. Theon grits his teeth, tries to calm down. Maybe it’s a coincidence, maybe Benjen doesn’t know what it means. Theon hardly knows himself. </p><p>“Oh?” he finally makes, careful to keep his voice politely interested. </p><p>“I asked him what it meant one day,” Benjen says, still in that casual tone. “He told me.” </p><p>Theon keeps his gaze firmly on the going ons in the yard. His heart is beating so loud he’s sure Benjen will hear that as well. </p><p>“It’s not – there’s a high chance you wouldn’t be stationed together,” Benjen says slowly. “Someone like Jon would do best at Castle Black. And a master with bow and arrow like you, a Greyjoy… you’d go to Eastwatch. But there’s always a possibility – it’s not something we’d ever talk about openly, but it has happened. We swear to take no wives, father no children. Anything else…” </p><p>A horn blaring spares Theon the rest of the conversation. One blow for rangers returning, Benjen had told them yesterday. Probably the Lord Commander, Theon thinks, curtly nodding at Benjen before he stalks down into the yard where Jon is just putting the training swords away, maybe out of sheer habit. He’s always the one doing it back at Winterfell. Jon’s face is reddened; he’s smiling. </p><p>“They’re already getting better,” he says, slightly out of breath. “I bet if I worked with them a few more times they could get really good.” </p><p>He looks so happy, so excited… aye, Jon would do well here, Theon thinks, a stinging pain in his chest. He’d become a ranger, could train all new arrivals, make First Ranger one day, and who knows what else? He’s got opportunities here that he doesn’t have anywhere else. It becomes more apparent over the rest of the day, when they meet the Lord Commander. Theon had hoped he’d be an unpleasant old badger, harsh like his men, but far from it. Jeor Mormont is stern, aye, but one can see his men mean a lot to him, he seems honourable and resolute. Theon can see how Jon could respect a man like that, look up to him. </p><p>There’s another man that has come back with the Lord Commander, introduced to them as Ser Alliser. He’s the current master-at-arms, Theon hears the tall, thin boy whisper to Jon. His voice drips with hatred, and Theon wonders how the fuck the man is training his recruits when all he manages is to earn contempt and unskilled fighters. Theon doesn’t like how this Ser Alliser looks at Jon when told he’s been working with the boys, but then at least there's finally a man who seems to share Theon’s thoughts. Jon can’t stay at the Wall. Not alone, not without – Theon watches quietly as Jon japes and drinks with his new friends, as he tells them of the lessons Ser Rodrik has taught him. No, Jon wouldn’t need Theon. </p><p>But Theon needs <em> him</em>, and he doesn’t know if he could bear a life in the Watch without having Jon close. Theon is the first to retire that night, building a new fire to warm up the ice cold room. While he waits for Jon to tear himself away from the rest, Theon contemplates what to decide, what to say to him. Jon had sacrificed a lot, all for Theon, for someone he didn’t think much of at the time. Selfless bastard… Theon doesn’t think he can be selfless, not to that extent. He needs Jon, that’s all there is to it. But here, as Brothers of the Night’s Watch – Theon repeats Benjen’s words in his head. There’s a chance to be together here, not openly, but it’d be more than they could have in Winterfell. Here no one bats an eye about the two of them sharing a small chamber. </p><p>Benjen didn’t seem to mind, either. For a short moment Theon imagines what kind of face Ned Stark would make if he found out his favourite child is bedded by the Greyjoy traitor’s son, his former ward. He’d probably forget Theon isn’t his to kill and call for Ice right away. Theon shudders. There’s no way they could ever be together in Winterfell like they could be here. </p><p>Jon returns before Theon has come close to even a semblance of a decision, his cheeks red and his dark eyes sparkling. He looks happier than Theon has ever seen him in Winterfell.</p><p>“You wouldn’t believe what Pyp has told me about Ser Alliser’s training,” he says, slumping down on the bed. “Apparently he’s an old cunt. I couldn’t say, all he did the whole night was glowering at me. But Lord Commander Mormont seems like a capable leader, don’t you think? They call him the Old Bear because of his house’s sigil, and I think it fits. And Grenn said…”</p><p>Theon lets Jon talk, amazed by the uncharacteristic stream of words. Jon seems so giddy, so excited…</p><p>“We can stay,” Theon says right into Jon’s babbling. “If you want it, we can stay. Take the Black.” </p><p>“What–” Jon stares at Theon as if he just proposed they should become grumkins. “Are you out of your <em> mind?</em>” </p><p><em> Yes</em>, Theon thinks vaguely, then, <em> what?? </em>Jon seems angry, the happy mood gone as if it had never existed in the first place. </p><p>“Did you hear what I’m saying?” Theon asks irritatedly. “I just told you we can stay, aye? Make your dream come true.”</p><p>“Oh, my dream. My <em> dream!” </em> Jon is almost yelling, brows pulled together, hands balled to fists. “What the fuck do <em> you </em> know about my dreams?” </p><p>Theon stares at him, completely taken aback. There’s absolutely no reason for Jon to react as if Theon had done him some great wrong, not as if he’d just offered to–</p><p>“You do realize I’m doing this for you, right? It’s not as if I <em> want </em> to stay here, but you–” </p><p>“FUCK YOU!!” </p><p>Theon watches in astonishment as the door falls shut behind Jon. He doesn’t return for the rest of the night. </p><p>The sky has just started to become dark blue instead of pitch black when Theon dresses himself as warm as he can. He hadn’t slept much after Jon’s baffling exit, had mostly just lied on his back and stared into the darkness, letting the short moment repeat over and over in his mind. It makes no sense, nothing of it. Maybe Jon had misunderstood Theon’s words somehow… Theon shakes his head. He’s said it as plain as day, has made such an incredible offer, and Jon is… pissed? </p><p>Outside there’s a first shimmer of light and Theon hastens his steps, nodding at the man on duty to operate the cage for him. On top of the Wall the wind is howling like the Others, and no amount of pelts could keep it from penetrating Theon’s wraps, but when he turns to look East he forgets about it. He’d been here yesterday, too, but it’s as breathtaking as if he’s seeing it for the first time. At first there’s only a hint of light blue, then a ray of light appears on the horizon before the tiny red sun starts to rise over the silver line that is the sea. It brings memories back, of sunrises he’s seen before, his mother’s voice in his ear as she tells him stories of sea dragons rising from the waves. </p><p>“It’s beautiful.” </p><p>Theon doesn’t have to turn around to know Jon has joined him. He keeps his eyes on the sun, tears brimming in them, from the growing brightness. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” Jon says as he comes to stand at Theon’s side. </p><p>His voice sounds small and anxious, not the sure Jon Theon knows. He waits, for Jon to say something else, for an explanation of some kind, and finally Jon sighs. </p><p>“I don’t know what made me so angry. You were telling me that you’d do this… and I couldn’t help thinking, how long until you resent me for it? How long until you’re sick of the cold, the men, everything? You’d loathe me. I could never want that.”</p><p>“But you wanted to take the Black,” Theon says. “It’s been all you ever talked about. Fuck, Snow… a few days ago you were a mess because you thought you couldn’t, and now that I’m giving you the chance – now all of a sudden you don’t want it anymore?” </p><p>“<em>You </em> don’t want it,” Jon answers quietly. “You say you’d do it, and gods know I love you even more just for thinking of it, but… you’d die here, Theon. You wouldn’t survive Winter. And you – you’re more important than any dream I ever had. I could never subject you to a life like this.” </p><p>Theon stands very still, gaze unwaveringly trained on the East, but he doesn’t see it, not the sun, not the sea. <em> Love you even more… </em> He feels dizzy, wants nothing more than turn to Jon and kiss the mouth that’s saying these sweet, devastating words – he can’t. A part of him desperately needs Jon to come to him, prove his words with actions, kiss away the fear spreading like wildfire in Theon’s body. Jon never comes. He just continues standing there, and suddenly the fear takes over, tugging hotly at Theon’s chest, consuming any shred of bravery he might have felt.</p><p>He turns around and walks away, without giving Jon a single glance.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>...ouch.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0028"><h2>28. Chapter 28</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi @all! </p><p>I just wanna say you're amazing! </p><p>Also, to set some minds at ease: I don't do unhappy endings. Even my saddest ficlet What was lost has a slightly hopeful ending :) </p><p>Coming up: a sad puppy and the Best Uncle Ever!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jon wishes he could take it back the moment he’s said it out loud and he sees the change in Theon’s expression. His whole body stiffens, his face – Jon wishes he could take it back. But the words are out, hanging in the freezing air between them. Jon’s hands twitch; he wants to touch Theon, wants to hold him like he had the last time they stood here. He doesn’t dare, afraid of the reaction, terrified to break his oath. Theon doesn’t look like he’d welcome Jon’s touch, and Jon would rather die than force Theon into anything he doesn’t want. And so Jon waits, for Theon to say something, do something, <em> anything. </em> </p><p>And Theon walks away. He walks away without looking at Jon, stiff and silent. Jon stares after him, desperation growing, and then he gasps when a sudden pain shoots through his chest, taking his breath away. It shouldn’t come as a surprise, but it hurts all the same, to love and not be loved in return. He’d known it would be like this, he knows <em> Theon </em> – proud, arrogant Theon Greyjoy who loves no one but himself, who would never lower himself to a bastard… And yet. And yet the past days and weeks, ever since he’d woken up after the fever… Jon wants to slap himself for being so stupid, for having allowed himself to hope. </p><p>It takes him a while to get his feet to move, bring him down. They are to leave shortly after breakfast, and when Jon enters Benjen’s chamber, his and Theon’s things are already packed and ready. Theon isn’t there, and Jon searches for him in vain once he arrives at the Common Hall. The boys Jon had worked with yesterday and spent the night with beckon Jon over to where they sit, but Jon can hardly eat a bite of bread. His stomach feels as if filled with something nasty, burning. He feels sick, relieved when his uncle asks Jon to accompany him. </p><p>“You’re as white as your wolf,” Benjen says as he leads Jon across the castle yard. “I’ve heard you spent the night at the lads’ barracks? Bet you didn’t get much sleep there.” </p><p>“Yes, I mean, not really,” Jon mumbles. “I just wanted to know how – if I’d stayed – it’s not important.” </p><p>“Hm…” </p><p>Benjen gives Jon a scrutinizing look, but he doesn’t say anything else. Two horses are waiting for them in the yard, and Benjen mounts his, waiting for Jon to do the same. Jon does, realizing with a start that Benjen means for them to ride into the tunnel, the one that leads beyond the Wall. The huge gate opens and they ride through, into the blinding whiteness of the snow. For a long time Benjen just moves on, not saying anything. They pass the first trees, enter what is called the Haunted Forest, and still Benjen doesn’t stop until they finally reach a small grove. Jon looks around, awe in his gaze. There are nine weirwoods, nine heart trees forming a rough circle. The air feels different, as if there are whispering voices in the wind. This is a place where the Old Gods live.</p><p>“There aren’t many men who keep the Old Gods among my brothers,” Benjen says into the reverent silence. “But those who do, like me, we come here for our prayers.” Benjen turns to Jon, a half smile on his face. “You look like you need a place to pray. I won’t be far.” </p><p>Jon doesn’t answer, weak with gratefulness for his uncle’s keen perception – gratefulness and a hint of shame. He’s behaving like a little girl with a broken heart, not like a grown man of eighteen. But then Benjen must think it’s the fact that Jon won’t be staying at the Wall, and so Jon just nods, looking after Benjen as he trots off into the trees until he’s vanished from sight, before he jumps off his horse and goes down on his knees in front of the biggest heart tree. Eyes closed, Jon searches his mind and heart for something to say. He cannot pray for Theon to love him, that would feel wrong in a way. But he can pray for himself, for the gods to fortify his heart, let him be content with what he has – if he still has it. </p><p><em> Please, </em> Jon prays with all his heart, <em> please don’t let it be over.  </em></p><p>He doesn’t know how much time has passed until Benjen’s voice rips him out of his silent prayer. </p><p>“I hope the gods will answer you,” he says, climbing off his horse and joining Jon before the weirwood. “I don’t need to know what it is you want,” he adds when Jon opens his mouth. “But let me tell you one thing: Have faith. Not only in the gods, but in your own heart. Have faith in <em> all </em> the hearts involved.” </p><p>Jon stares at him, not knowing what to say. How on earth has Benjen – how does he know–</p><p>“You’re a Stark through and through.” Benjen’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles. “We don’t give our love easily, but when we do… it is forever. And mine belongs to the Watch.”</p><p>Benjen takes a step closer to the big weirwood, placing his hand against the bark, right above the bleeding eyes. It looks like a caress. </p><p>“In a way I was like you, always wanted to join the men protecting the realm from what lurks in these lands. When Ned rode to war with Robert I forced myself to wait, dreading the thought that he might not come back, not only because – I would’ve been forced to be Lord of Winterfell in his stead. I never desired the title. The moment he was safely home, I made for the watch.” </p><p>Jon listens silently as Benjen talks on. </p><p>“It’s another Stark trait, this. We never want to rule. Your father didn’t want it either, it should have been Brandon, but…” For a moment hurt clouds Benjen’s face. “And yet, when we do find ourselves in the position, we do our duty, and we’re good at it. You are good at it, Jon. What you did for Theon…” Benjen sighs, turns to face Jon. “You’ll always be welcome here, Nephew. If the circumstances should change – but I don’t think this is where your future lies.”</p><p>“And where,” Jon asks quietly, “does it lie?”</p><p>“I don’t know that.” Benjen smiles, a smile so similar to Father’s it makes Jon’s chest clench painfully. “I only know one thing, Jon. You need to find a place of your own. One that isn’t in Winterfell. You’ll always be at home there, no matter what my sister-in-law might say. As long as there’s a Stark in Winterfell it’s your home too. <em> You’re </em> a Stark. But you wouldn’t be happy if you’d spent your whole life in the shadows. Not even if the shadow is that of a loving father, or brother.” </p><p>“There is no place,” Jon says, desperation too plain in his voice. “There is only Winterfell and the Wall. And I couldn’t–”</p><p>“No,” Benjen says softly. “I suppose you can’t.” </p><p>“He offered.” Jon looks down on his feet, cheeks burning. “He offered to stay, for me. But I know him too well, it wouldn’t – he’d hate me before Winter has even started.”</p><p>“You may be right, I don’t know him well enough to tell. But I know <em> you</em>, Jon.” Benjen steps closer, placing his hand on Jon’s shoulder, waiting until Jon looks up. “I thought there was a chance here for the both of you. But then I saw your face when you looked at him. I saw how you are when you’re near him, how you react to every little move he makes. Your heart can never belong to the Watch.”</p><p><em> No, </em> Jon thinks as his uncle pulls him into a tight embrace, <em> it can only belong to Theon. </em>If Theon doesn’t want it, if everything is truly over, then that’s what it is. It doesn’t change how Jon feels. </p><p>They slowly ride back into Castle Black, and Jon’s heart takes a leap when he sees Theon waiting for them in the yard. Jon studies his face carefully, anxiously, finding nothing but a mocking sneer. </p><p>“Thought you’d deserted beyond the Wall, Snow,” he drawls, ignoring Benjen. “The maester had a raven from Winterfell. The Tullys are gone, the coast is clear. Means we can leave this shithole today as planned.”</p><p>And with that he turns on his heels and stalks off, in the direction of the Silent Tower. Probably to get their belongings. Jon looks after him, sadness weighing heavy on his heart. He should’ve kept his bloody mouth shut. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Are we sad yet? Theon, my boy -.-</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0029"><h2>29. Chapter 29</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm back at work since yesterday and very blergh about it. There are zero tourists of course, so basically I'm sitting on my bum and staring into the void for 5 hours. Time to write aplenty tho!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Their send-off from Castle Black is short. Benjen is the last Jon says farewell to, after his new friends and the Lord Commander. Theon is, again, blatantly absent, only surfacing from the vaults when Jon is starting to get nervous. Maester Aemon is with Theon, and after Jon has said farewell to him as well they finally leave. It’s strange… despite wanting to be there for so long, despite the feeling that he could’ve lived a decent life there, Jon isn’t sorry at all to leave it behind. </p><p>Theon rides ahead, not waiting for Jon, not once looking if he’s still following. Jon doesn’t have the heart to break the heavy silence between them, doesn’t feel strong enough to face the inevitable lashing-out, the cold, the rejection. The day stretches endlessly, cloudy and cool, and Jon is glad for the brisk pace Theon sets. They have made a good chunk of their way when Theon stops his horse next to a small group of trees a little way from the road. He doesn’t look up when Jon joins him, busying himself with setting up shelter. </p><p>“Go and water the horses,” he finally mutters. “I’ll go to sleep.” </p><p>Jon can’t take it anymore. </p><p>“Theon,” he starts, hesitating when Theon turns to him immediately, his pale eyes questioning, a strange, indescribable expression on his face. “I’m so sorry,” Jon continues quietly. “I didn’t want – I didn’t mean it like that.”  </p><p>Theon’s face changes; he looks like he’s been slapped. “You didn’t–” He shakes his head, seeming to make an intense effort, but then he smiles, the old, mocking, familiar smile. “Whatever, Snow. Let’s just say the cold got into your wooly head, aye? No harm done.” </p><p>But the harm is very much done. Jon watches Theon shrug lightly, watches his smile turn wider, sees the harried look in his eyes. It’s done, Jon has done it, and he can’t take it back. When he returns with the horses Theon is already inside their camp. For a moment Jon contemplates sleeping outside, but it’s just too cold. In the end he has no choice, so he crawls inside, his heart heavy. Theon is curled up under his cloak, facing Jon when he enters. He watches Jon get ready for sleep, a strange tension on his face, in his body. As if he’s waiting for something. </p><p>Jon wants him so much. He wishes things between them were different, no bond, no law, no duties or pledges. If he weren’t bound by them he could take Theon’s face in his hands, kiss his wide mouth until the anguished lines are gone from it, could make him forget about the things he didn’t mean to say out loud, should never have said out loud. He could try to show him that it’s alright, that he doesn’t require anything Theon isn’t willing to give, isn’t able to. It doesn’t matter, Jon could live with it. Anything would be better than this silence between them. </p><p>Jon knows himself. He’s good at locking what he feels inside of his heart, he’s good at contenting himself with the things he can have, good at not expecting more. They could’ve gone on and on like they did before, but as it is now… Jon’s hands are shaking with the longing to touch, to see for himself if everything is truly lost. Theon is still looking at him with that strange anticipation. Jon doesn’t know what it is he’s waiting for. Another apology, maybe. More pretending it was nothing, only a stupid phrase. Jon waits too, for Theon to grab him, fuck the nonsense out of him, make cruel jokes while he has his body. He’d welcome it, but nothing happens. </p><p>“Good night,” Jon finally whispers, turning his back on Theon. </p><p>He’s woken by a harsh hand on his shoulder, but when Jon blinks into the cold air Theon isn’t there. The horses are saddled and ready, and as soon as Jon has eaten a bite of dried meat they ride on. It’s the same as the day before, silence and cold radiating off Theon. Jon’s desperation grows. He doesn’t know what to do, how to get back to the easy comradery, the sweet moments in between the teasing and bickering, all of it. By the time they make halt at an inn close to the road Jon feels exhausted, jaded. </p><p>They take up quarter in a small, neat room, and Jon sinks onto the bed, tired beyond measure. Theon doesn’t seem to be tired at all; he washes thoroughly with the cold water from the wash bowl, dresses in a new set of clothes. Jon watches as he brushes his hair, as he ties it back again. For a short moment Theon’s fingers play with the braids he’s still sporting, and Jon’s stomach churns painfully. But Theon leaves the braids in place. Finally he’s done, turning to Jon with a wide, phony smirk. </p><p>“Don’t wait up for me, Snow. I intend to have a spot of fun tonight.”</p><p>He turns to go. </p><p>“Theon–” </p><p>Jon gets up as Theon turns around at once, staring at Jon with an almost hopeful expression. Jon’s mind is racing; he can’t catch a clear thought. If Theon goes now – it seems like the last straw, the ultimate breach. If Theon goes, it’s over. Once and for all. Jon shivers, the thought enough to bring tears to his eyes. He couldn’t bear it. But what if it’s what Theon wants, for things to be over? What if the realization of Jon’s feelings for him have killed all sympathy and want he might have felt for Jon? Jon swallows against the sob rising in his throat. He can’t force Theon to want him, he can’t – the thought emerges crystal-clear from the mess in Jon’s head. He can order him to stay. He can’t force Theon to want him, but he can make him stay, can prevent him from going down there and… </p><p>The words are already on Jon’s tongue, he can taste them, feel them form. <em> I order you to stay. </em>Jon bites his lip, hard enough he breaks the skin. No, he thinks, resignation washing over him. That’s not who he is, that’s not who he wants to be. Theon is his, but not – not like that. Jon takes a step, to his satchel hanging over a chair. He rummages through it until he finds the still heavy purse, and with a jolt he turns to Theon, holding it out to him. </p><p>“Just don’t – don’t bring anyone up here,” he says, not looking at Theon’s face. </p><p>For a moment it’s quiet, then the purse is taken from Jon’s hand, pain shooting through his chest. </p><p>“You fucking liar,” Theon hisses, menace dripping from his voice. “I knew it, you’re so full of shit – liar!” </p><p>The door falls shut with a deafening bang. </p><p>It’s a strange feeling, empty and dark. At some point Jon finds himself at the door, ready to go down and look for Theon, drag him back. He doesn’t. Theon made his decision. He’s no longer – they’re no longer – Jon sinks onto the bed, pressing his fists against his eyes. His face is wet, his vision blurred. He gets up again, aimlessly wandering through the room, pacing the small space, over and over, getting dizzy with it. His head hurts, his chest feels like it’s filled with shards, cutting edges and raw, agonizing pain whenever he takes a breath. He slams his fist into the wall, bites down on his chafed knuckles to keep from screaming. He doesn’t know how he gets into bed, doesn’t remember undressing. </p><p>Sleep is impossible, all senses on high alert, heart beating in a sluggish, dragging rhythm. Time passes, how much Jon cannot say. And then the door finally opens and the room fills with the stench of ale, cheap perfume, sex. Jon’s heart stops, only to start thumping again, rapid, angry. He’s so angry he thinks he’ll faint. He listens to the sounds of Theon undressing in the dark room, bumping into things, cursing under his breath. Then suddenly the room is bathed in light as Theon lights a candle, the flame highlighting his disheveled appearance. His tunic is crumpled, hanging out of his unlaced breeches, his hair is a mess and there’s – Jon’s blood runs cold at the sight of the dark bruise on Theon’s neck. He’s on his feet before he knows it. </p><p>“Was it worth it?” he hisses, anger and pain making his voice foreign, even to his own ears. “Answer me, you fucking–” Lost for words, Jon takes a step, right into Theon’s space, shoving his chest as hard as he can.</p><p>“<em>Fuck–” </em> With a startled cry Theon topples against the table, catching himself on the edge. He looks surprised, but then he suddenly starts to laugh. “Whassit to you, bastard? ‘s not as if what I do is any of your concern.” </p><p>“Isn’t it?” Jon is shaking with rage, his hand shoots out, grabbing Theon’s tunic. The canine attached to the necklace beneath grazes Jon’s fingers, heightening his anger. “I fucking <em> own </em> you, Greyjoy, get that into your head. You can throw me aside, you can reject me and everything I feel for you, but you can’t get rid of <em> this!” </em> </p><p>He catches hold of the necklace, yanks, hard enough the thin links break. Jon holds his breath, horror rising in him. He takes a step back, the broken necklace dangling from his fist. What has he <em> done… </em> </p><p>Theon stands very still, eyes blown wide, dark in the candlelight. </p><p>“Reject you?” Theon’s voice is hoarse, barely audible. “<em>Reject you?” </em> He licks his lips, shakes his head as if to clear it. “What the fuck are you talking about?”</p><p>“You can’t be serious!” Jon stares at Theon, feeling as if the floor is about to give way beneath his feet. “What else have you been doing since we were – since I said–”</p><p>“You didn’t come to me.” Theon’s mouth contorts into a pained grimace. “I waited for you to come to me. I was – I needed you. Why didn’t you come to me?” </p><p><em> What? </em>Jon doesn’t know what to make of this, he just shakes his head, a tiny movement. </p><p>“You can’t – that’s not something I <em> know</em>, Jon.” Theon exhales a shuddery breath. “You saying such things – to me? <em> Me?</em>” He casts his gaze aside, shrugs. “I was scared<em>, </em> alright? I couldn’t – I needed you to come to me,” Theon repeats. “Show – prove that you meant it. That you really meant <em> me</em>.” He looks up, and Jon breathes in sharply at the look in Theon’s eyes. “You never came, Jon,” he says quietly. “It was too much and I – and you didn’t come later, either. You told me you didn’t mean what you said. And now you say I rejected <em> you</em>?” </p><p>He laughs, a short, bitter bark, piercing Jon’s chest. </p><p>“I thought about it, all last day, all day today. All the time, ever since – you never came to me. It’s always been me coming to you, always me kissing you, touching you. You never – did you ever want it? Me? Or did you just go along with it because your sense of duty is so fucked you’d even let your charge fuck you before–” </p><p>“I WANT YOU!!” Jon screams right over Theon’s words. “You bloody idiot, I want you – all – the – fucking – time!” He shoves Theon again, doesn’t know if he’s angry or desperate. </p><p>“But then…” Theon sways, reaches out to grab Jon’s wrists. “Why the fuck do you never – what’s your fucking problem, Snow?”</p><p>“This!” Jon opens his fist, showing the necklace he’s still clutching. “It’s – you’re my charge, Theon! I pledged never to abuse the power I have over you. It would be wrong of me, to just go and assume you want me. It needs to be you doing the – starting any – <em> fuck!” </em> </p><p>Theon’s grip around Jon’s wrists loosens, and Jon wipes his eyes, ashamed of the tears pricking at them. </p><p>“You’re an idiot, Snow.” Theon scoffs. “This…” He takes the necklace from Jon’s hand, studying it for a moment before he closes his fingers around it, slips it into his pocket. “I didn’t believe I ever get there, but… I don’t care about it anymore. I don’t care that you own my fucking arse. I don’t–” He takes Jon’s chin, gently forcing him to look up. “This means so much more,” Theon says, touching the earring. “Forget the fucking bond. It’s not important, just something for the world to see.” </p><p>“Theon…” Jon stares at him, unable to believe his ears. “But – aren’t you – you said you were scared.” </p><p>“Out of my fucking mind, Snow.” Theon’s fingers stroke Jon’s face, fingertips grazing his cheek. “If what you said is true, if you did mean it – I can’t promise you the same. It’s not – I can’t. I haven’t ever – I need you. I want to be with you. I want <em> you</em>.” He’s very near, his lips almost touching Jon’s. “Do you want me?” he whispers. </p><p>There’s a dull sting at the words, but Jon ignores it, knows Theon is giving him everything he can. It’s so much more than he’d hoped for, so much after he thought he’d lost everything. So what if Theon doesn’t love him? He’s here; with Jon. And Jon loves him enough for the both of them. </p><p>“All the fucking time,” he echoes his earlier words, and then he closes the distance and pulls Theon against his mouth. </p><p>He kisses him with all his might, with everything he tried to hold back for the sake of a pledge that isn’t important anymore, not to Theon. A part of Jon knows it won’t be so easy, that it will matter again when they’re back in Winterfell where Theon isn’t just Theon but the ward, the hostage, the bastard’s charge. It will matter how he behaves to Jon in public, how their days are structured. But right now, in this moment, it’s just them. </p><p>“Then prove it,” Theon murmurs between tiny kisses. “Prove that you want me.” Another lingering kiss, Theon’s voice honey-sweet in Jon’s ear. “Fuck me, Jon.” </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Use your words, boys!</p><p>Er... a little shameless advertising on my own account for those who're interested and haven't seen it – I started a new story called The Horny Kraken Prince. It's basically the Little Mermaid, only more tentacly, much more cracky and the word cock gets used WAY more often ^^'<br/>If that sounds like something you could like, please pop over and check it out ;)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0030"><h2>30. Chapter 30</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey folks, hope you're all as well as can be expected!</p><p>Theon POV for this one. Doesn't hurt the boy to try smth new.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jon has taken a step back, staring at Theon as if he’d grown horns all of a sudden. His eyes are wide, black in the candlelight, his cheeks a lovely shade of red. He looks completely blindsided, a notion Theon can understand too well. He’s somewhat surprised himself. It’s not as if he’s never thought of it. On the contrary, it had haunted his dreams when he’d been a child, had made him wake up in cold sweat from yet another nightmare. He’d heard the men on Pyke talking about it, what it really entails, being a hostage. They’d sneered at him as he’d been taken from the castle, mocking him, as if it had been his idea. </p><p>Nothing had ever happened, of course. The northerners are an uncouth lot, there had been crude japes, but not one had ever touched him, or even tried. Lord Stark wouldn’t have allowed it anyway. No, nothing had happened. But the nightmares had stayed, until he’d been older, more versed in the ways of the world. Until his eye had first been caught by a firm, flat chest instead of soft tits, when he’d first found himself attracted to strong, muscled arms, a stubbly chin, a deep voice. The dreams had changed, from nightmares to feverish tossing in his furs, the image of being held down suddenly enticing instead of terrifying, the vision of auburn curls under his fingers… </p><p>He’d been scared to death by those thoughts, had shoved them away with all his might. Ironborn don’t want this, Ironborn <em> do </em> the fucking. The last Greyjoy heir could never submit to a Stark. He’d went to Wintertown, choosing the first redhead he’d seen, had tried to fuck those thoughts away. It had worked, for a time. Until that boy had appeared at the brothel, that boy with the dark curls that reminded Theon of another Stark, half a Stark to be exact. The bastard, pretty like a girl, beneath Theon by far and safe to think of when he’d fucked that boy whore, aroused by the thought of sullying Lord Stark’s precious love child. Yes, Snow had been safe. </p><p>And now… it’s still there, the desire to get one over the Starks – but not this one. Not Jon. He wants Jon because he’s warm, because he’s good, because his smile is doing things to Theon. Because Jon loves him, stands by him, makes him feel like himself. He trusts Jon. More than he could ever have trusted any other Stark. With Jon there are no thoughts of submitting to his captors, not like it would’ve been with – it doesn’t matter. Robb hadn’t been there, but Jon. Jon, who didn’t love Theon at the time, who Theon had only ever thought of with contempt. Whose smile is now the most important thing in the world. </p><p>“Theon,” Jon finally says, swallowing dryly. “Are you – I mean, do you – really?” </p><p>Theon almost laughs at Jon’s bewildered expression. Yes, he wants it. He’s no longer the heir to the Seastone Chair, will never wear the Driftwood Crown. His family has forsaken him, and suddenly the thought is liberating. He can do what he want, can be whoever he wants to be. It had renewed the curiosity, fucking that boy in the brothel, seeing how much he’d enjoyed it. And now, with Jon, there’s nothing holding Theon back from finding out anymore. </p><p>“Really, Snow,” Theon says with a grin. “If you feel up to the task..?”</p><p>Jon’s brows gather, there’s a glint in his eye that make Theon’s stomach lurch in nervous anticipation. And then Jon is over him, his lips moving in an entirely new fashion, effortlessly taking on his new role. His hands are everywhere, impatiently gripping at Theon’s tunic until it tears. Jon stops, breathing in sharply as he moves his hands to Theon’s torso, slowly roaming up from his stomach to his chest. </p><p>“You have no idea how long I wanted to do this,” Jon murmurs, eyes greedily trained on Theon’s skin. “Have you like this, touch you…” The tone of his voice is earnest, almost reverent, making Theon shiver. </p><p>Jon grips Theon’s waist, spinning them around, and before he knows it, Theon finds himself on his back, with Job looming over him, still with that hungry look in his eyes. It makes Theon’s heart beat faster, makes warmth spread through his veins. Jon pulls at his own clothes, kicking off his breeches until he’s mouthwateringly naked – and rock hard. The sight ignites a little fire in Theon’s belly, a dizzying mix of nerves and desire. </p><p>“Beautiful,” Jon whispers, bending to nibble at Theon’s collarbone before he kisses lower. Theon’s breath catches when Jon takes a stiff nipple into his mouth, licking and sucking until Theon is squirming beneath him. </p><p>“Drowned – that’s – <em> fuck…</em>” </p><p>Theon’s hands tangle in Jon’s curls as he lavishes Theon’s chest with attention, finally slides lower, dragging Theon’s breeches down. Theon gasps as his prick springs free, cries out when Jon takes him in his lovely mouth. He spreads his legs wider as Jon’s hand wanders to his balls, lower, <em> there, </em> stroking, exploring, applying the tiniest bit of pressure, and Theon holds his breath – the touches stop; Jon sits up and gets to his feet. Theon watches him stalk over to their belongings, almost opening his mouth to ask what the fuck Jon thinks he’s doing, when Jon turns back and Theon sees the little flask in his hand. </p><p>Oh. </p><p>This time there’s a hint of fear in the heat coursing through Theon, but then Jon is back, his lovely face tender, his eyes so, so warm. He reaches out, fingers grazing the spot where that serving girl had slobbered at Theon’s neck earlier, before he’d let her finish him with a sweaty, clumsy hand.</p><p>“Never again,” Jon says, a hint of steel in his voice. “Don’t do this to me ever again.” His gaze hardens. “Do you hear me, Greyjoy? That’s an order.” </p><p>“Never again, my lord.” Theon takes a deep breath, smirks. It’s time to forget the nightmares once and for all. “I’m yours, my lord. I’ll do anything you want.” </p><p>A shudder goes through Jon, his eyes narrow and then his mouth is on Theon’s neck, sucking the skin into his mouth, working a bruise over the mark that wench had left. It hurts, too hard, but at the same time it sends shivers down Theon’s spine, turns his skin to gooseflesh. Finally Jon breaks off, gasping for air. Theon’s neck throbs, will feel tender for some time, a reminder. Not that he’d need one. </p><p>“Spread your legs,” Jon says lowly, the tone of his voice making Theon’s throat dry. He does, and immediately Jon is between his thighs, one hand on Theon’s straining prick, the other, suddenly slicked, stroking lower until he – “Lift your hips,” Jon says, and when Theon obeys a pillow is slid beneath his arse. Like this he’s completely exposed to Jon’s gaze, Jon’s deft fingers, prodding and searching, massaging, entering – Theon’s head falls to the side, he bites his lip–</p><p>“I want you to look at me,” Jon says, commands. “Look at me, Theon.” </p><p>Theon does, taking in Jon’s black eyes, the possessive look in them, and then Theon cries out when Jon’s fingers twist inside him and a surge of heat seems to consume him whole, and suddenly the fear is back, the shame. It shouldn’t feel <em> good</em>, he shouldn’t enjoy it – for half a heartbeat he sees his father’s disapproving face, hears the taunts – Theon bites his lip to suppress the sob stuck in his throat; he clings to Jon’s shoulders, fingers digging into his skin. </p><p>“Jon,” he pants, writhing, “Jon, <em> please–” </em></p><p>Jon’s mouth crashes down on Theon’s, his fingers vanish, replaced with the head of his prick and then he pushes, swallowing Theon’s cry. He goes slow, keeps stroking Theon’s prick, his lips never leaving Theon’s. Theon’s whole body is glowing, the pain from the stretch nothing but a distant echo in the back of his mind, nothing compared to how good it feels, better than he imagined, and all that’s left of doubt and shame evaporates in Jon’s arms as he just lets go. </p><p>“I love you,” Jon murmurs, and Theon buries his face in Jon’s shoulder, holding on to him as he’s rocked with the gentle thrusts. </p><p>Fuck them… fuck the Ironborn, fuck them all if being one of them means he’s not allowed to have this. He’s never going back anyway. Jon wants him, Jon is doing this to him and it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks of him as long as he’s with Jon, as long as he has that one person who loves him just like he is, no conditions, no expectations. The heat in Theon builds, rises like the flood until it spills over, culminating in a hoarse cry as Theon tenses. Jon gasps, goes faster, a couple erratic pushes and Theon feels him pulse inside him, hot and wet and so good and he spills over Jon’s hand and his belly, his vision going white with blinding pleasure. </p><p>He comes to to Jon’s lips on his forehead, comforting and warm, and Theon lazily opens one eye to peer into Jon’s reddened, anxious face. He hasn’t moved away, his prick softening inside of Theon. It’s a peculiar feeling, strangely nice. </p><p>“Are you alright?” Jon asks nervously. “Did you – was it–”</p><p>Theon cranes his neck to shut him up with a kiss. “I enjoyed myself well enough,” he mumbles. “But I couldn’t help noticing that <em> you </em> were awfully quiet, sweetling.” </p><p>Jon turns crimson at that, finally moving back. Theon immediately feels cold; he takes a hold of Jon’s arm and pulls until he lies down next to him, then grapples for a fur to drag over them.</p><p>“It was everything,” Jon says after a long moment. “I thought of doing that when we started – when you first – I wanted you so much. I wanted you like this. I love it when you fuck me, when you take me hard. I love everything. But this…” He takes a deep breath, his hand creeping to Theon’s chest. “You feel so good, Theon... I could hardly breathe, nevermind – it’s a little overwhelming.” </p><p>“You’ll get used to it,” Theon says, reaching under the fur and gently patting Jon’s flaccid prick. </p><p>“You mean – you want to do it again? With me – you know?” </p><p>“Aye, Snow, I want you to fuck me again. Not right now, mind,” Theon adds, quickly taking his hand to less dangerous areas when Jon’s prick twitches curiously. “On the morrow maybe. But I could be persuaded to make you scream if you give me a moment to catch my breath.”</p><p>Jon hums doubtfully, and Theon turns his head to kiss his nose. </p><p>“Alright, maybe I’m a little exhausted. You were amazing, <em> elska</em>,” he murmurs, eyes already falling shut. </p><p>“Theon?” Jon’s voice drifts through the beginning haze. “What does it mean? Elska?”</p><p>Theon turns towards Jon, pulling him close. He’s not ready for this, and maybe he’ll never be. For now this is big enough, hard enough, accepting that someone as good as Jon could really love him. Anything else… it’s hard. </p><p>“It’s just some word,” Theon says, but Jon is already asleep. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So, that's that. Next: on their way to Winterfell. </p><p>Hey, a private question. Anyone want to chat Greysnow? Or Theon or Jon, but best both of them. I'm a little out of spirits and need distraction – or a pill that makes me sleep until the world stops burning. </p><p>You know where to find me on tumblr (owlsinathens), and my email is in my profile!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0031"><h2>31. Chapter 31</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello dear all! </p><p>I had a flash of insane productivity yesterday (we had a holiday in Austria) and not only did I write the next four chapters, but also the last one! Four and a half in between left to write 😁</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I did all the work ever since the first time,” Theon grumbles, voice muffled by the pillow he’s burying his face in. “Stop complaining and do your share.”</p><p>“First,” Jon says, dutifully slicking his hand, “it’s not work, not really. And second, I’m not complaining but I know <em> you </em> will be when we get going on the morrow. Do you really want to ride into Winterfell with a sore arse?”</p><p>“If anyone asks why I’m limping I’ll just say you punished me for misbehaving. Get on with it, Snow – pretty please? It’s been an eternity.” </p><p>“Six hours,” Jon says, amused. “And if you want it again you better shut up and get on your knees.”</p><p>Theon mutters mutinously, but does as he’s told. It’s still baffling to Jon, the fact that Theon lets him do this, enjoys being ordered around so much. Thinking back, at all that who’s the bitch talk… Jon loves it. He loves how the hard edges disappear when he takes Theon, how he becomes pliant and soft in Jon’s arms, how his body feels when Jon moves in him, warm and perfect, loves the trust Theon shows, the look in his eyes… And Theon never seems to get enough, always wanting more. Jon is happy to comply. Who’d ever have thought proud Theon Greyjoy would beg to be fucked by Winterfell’s bastard one day? It’s yet a completely new side of him emerging, Theon the insatiable cockslut. Another Theon to love.</p><p>Something has changed, irrevocably, and Jon has no idea how they could ever hide it from the people in Winterfell. From Father, from Arya – from Robb. He’ll be there when they come home. The thought fills Jon with a strange mix of joy and apprehension. He loves his brother, has missed him dreadfully. But Robb and Theon… they’ve always been joined at the hip, ever since Father had arrived at Winterfell with his new ward in tow. From the first moment it had been Robb’s purpose to befriend Theon, with Jon looking on jealously. Robb had tried to include him, sure, but after a few tastes of Theon’s nasty teasing Jon had decided it wasn’t worth the hassle, had contented himself with the seldom times he could have Robb all to himself, had tried not to glare at them laughing and whispering. </p><p>Only the gods know how it will be now, with everything that has changed. They haven’t spoken about Robb at all, not since that one failed conversation when Jon had tried to get Theon to reply to Robb’s letters. Theon had been so angry then, so bitter… </p><p>“Are you still mad at Robb?” Jon asks when they are dressing in the morning. </p><p>“Huh?” Theon pauses halfway into his breeches, giving Jon a look of pure incomprehension. “What – where’s that coming from all of a sudden?” He cocks an eyebrow. “You weren’t thinking about him while I had my mouth on your prick, were you?”</p><p>“<em>No,” </em>Jon protests, horrified when his face starts to feel hot, and Theon starts to grin like the cat that got the cream. “Of course not,” Jon affirms, “what would even make you <em>think</em> of–” Oh. “Wait… did <em>you?</em>”</p><p>Upon that Theon puts on a big show of huffing and eye-rolling, but he doesn’t look at Jon until he’s finished dressing, and then he only gives him a short glance. Jon’s stomach drops. </p><p>“Don’t gape at me, do the braids,” Theon grouses, a slight pink tinge to his cheeks. When Jon doesn’t move, he sighs heavily. “Of course I didn't. Not – never when I’m with you. Not once since we…” He takes a deep breath. “If you tell a single soul I’ll murder you. I might have thought of him when fucking Ros? Once or twice? When I was young and horny?”</p><p>Jon doesn’t know what to say to that. With a strange tight feeling in his chest he walks over, pushing Theon to sit down on the bed and taking the first strand of hair between his fingers. He’s aware Theon is watching him closely, waiting for some sort of an answer, but Jon has none to offer. When the braids are done he wants to step back, out of reach, but Theon’s hand catches the hem of his tunic before he can. </p><p>“Are you jealous, Snow?” Theon smirks, pulling until Jon has to come or have his tunic tear. “Don’t be,” Theon says. “That was long before – it would never have happened anyway.”</p><p>“And what if Robb had been there?” Jon asks. “What if he’d taken the pledge, what if–”</p><p>“Well,” Theon interrupts him, “I guess I would never have fucked you. And neither would I have fucked Robb. Or he me,” he adds with a groan when Jon opens his mouth. “Really, Snow. Stop it with the pouting. You’re my – you know. My elska.” </p><p>“You still haven’t told me what that means,” Jon says, deciding to let himself be distracted. </p><p>“And I won’t until I remember what <em> exactly </em> it means,” Theon says lightly. “Will you stop being jealous now or do I have to fuck it out of you?”</p><p>“The latter please,” Jon says, bending down to take Theon’s mouth. Seems it’ll be a sore ride for both of them.</p><p>It is, especially when Theon insists they go slowly – and together on one horse. </p><p>“Is that a new favourite of yours?” Jon asks once he’s lost the fight and is sitting in front of Theon, silently mumbling apologies to their mount. “You do know that we’re maybe four hours from Winterfell. On the Kingsroad. Someone could come by any moment. Someone could <em> see </em> us.”</p><p>“We’ll tell them your horse is halting,” Theon answers, slinging his arms around Jon’s waist and nosing at his ear. “Four hours you said? All the more reason for me to enjoy this while I can.”</p><p>“You’re a lunatic,” Jon mumbles, but he can’t help the happy bubbles rising in his chest. </p><p>They slowly make their way along the road, stopping at about half the distance for a bite to eat. Ghost, having been largely absent since their leaving Castle Black, joins them again when they mount their horses for the last leg of their journey, <em> both </em> horses this time. They’re almost there. And yet Theon insists on keeping his horse close to Jon’s, insists on taking Jon’s hand every other moment. It’s baffling, but Jon isn’t going to complain, not while it lasts. Finally they ride onto the last hilltop before Winterfell, and Jon holds his breath when he sees the castle lying before them. Normally he loves coming back, loves Winterfell with all his heart, but now…</p><p>“I don’t want to go back,” Jon blurts out, feeling helpless and desperate. “If we go back we can’t – they won’t – I don’t want to lose this!” </p><p>At first Theon looks slightly blindsided, but then he laughs, nearly pulling Jon out of his saddle and into his arms. </p><p>“Don’t worry, Jon,” he says. “We’ll find a way. I mean, you can’t pull my breeches down and suck my prick in the middle of the yard, but then that’s not something I’d see you doing anywhere, so.”</p><p>“Everything will change,” Jon mumbles, refusing to be consoled by a bad jape. “You’ll not be like this when we’re back. You hate it there. You’re not yourself in Winterfell.”</p><p>“No, but I’m myself with you.” Theon strokes Jon’s hair back. “Have a little trust in me, elska. Nothing will change, not when we’re alone. Maybe we should spend our next allowance on a good, sturdy lock for your room,” he adds, smiling again. “Shame, I wanted to have a brand new Greyjoy cloak made for myself. One in the fashion of the Ironborn, to complement my new appearance.” </p><p>“Father is going to have a heart attack when you run around like that,” Jon says, smiling when that makes Theon’s eyes sparkle with mirth. “Don’t go overboard, though. I’m not willing to risk my literal arse for you ever again.”</p><p>“Don’t you worry about that,” Theon says, kissing Jon’s nose. “I’ve come to like it quite a bit.”</p><p>Feeling a little better, Jon sits up straight, squaring his shoulders. It’s not as if they have many other options anyway, he thinks, and leads his horse down the hill. When they’re almost at the gate, Theon slows his horse, turning to Jon and taking his hand, hidden from view by the saddlebags. His face is earnest, he seems to want to say something, opening and closing his mouth, when suddenly a loud voice calls out to them. Jon turns his head, just in time to see the gate opening and someone coming through, running up to them. Jon can feel Theon going rigid beside him when he recognizes who is coming to meet them. </p><p>“I don’t – I’m not mad at him anymore,” Theon says slowly. </p><p>His hand slips out of Jon’s, gripping onto the reins. His eyes are unwaveringly trained ahead, and Jon’s throat tightens. </p><p>“Fuck off already,” he says firmly, and that’s all that’s needed. Theon digs his heels into his horse’s sides, speeding off until he’s reached his best friend, and then Robb almost drags him from his mount, throwing his arms around Theon as if he never means to let him go again. </p><p>Jon watches, a stupid stinging in his eyes. He quickly wipes them on his sleeve before he puts on a big smile and rides to join them. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>...oops, there he is. </p><p>What, oh <em>what</em> will happen now? 😇 </p><p>I want to thank you once again... this fic is now the one with the highest kudos/hits/subscriptions/bookmarks/comments among my stuff, and I'm still unable to wrap my head around it. You are the best and I love you all!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0032"><h2>32. Chapter 32</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello on (almost lol) Monday. But then it's already Monday in Oz and China and NZ etc. :)</p><p>Sooo I want to say one thing about this chapter and the next few: In this house we love and cherish Robb Stark. Robb Stark is a gift. Robb is... doomed to be a sidekick in most of my stories, except OT3 and those pesky love triangle WIPs sitting in my docs and staring at me accusingly. No Robb-bashing please :')</p><p>(PS: 1 1/2 more chapters to write 😱)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He reaches them just when Robb surfaces again, holding Theon an arm’s length away and studying him intently.</p><p>“You look different,” he says, tilting his head and squinting. “What in the <em> seven hells </em> is that in your ear?” </p><p>Jon’s fake smile turns into a real one as he glides from his mount, and then Robb’s arms are around him too, squishing him so hard Jon fears for his organs. </p><p>“It’s good to see you, Jon,” Robb murmurs in Jon’s ear. “I missed you.”</p><p>“And I you,” Jon says when Robb lets him breathe again. “You look good. The Riverlands seem to have agreed with you.”</p><p>“Aye, but <em> you </em> look thin. You’re not sick, are you?” Robb’s brows gather worriedly. “Well, now that you’re home we’ll feed you up in no time. Father agreed to have a mutton roasted to mark your return. Bran has already gone to tell him, he saw you coming when he was clambering about the battlements.”</p><p>Robb has slung one arm around Jon’s shoulders as he rambles, and now he does the same to Theon. </p><p>“You have to tell me everything I missed. The whole drama, you know. I couldn’t <em> believe </em> when I came back and – Father didn’t say much, he always had urgent business elsewhere when I asked about – anyway, you can tell me later, aye?”</p><p>Jon gives his brother an astonished look. Can it really be – how can he make so light of it? Doesn’t he know what all of that meant for his best friend? Jon peers over at Theon. He’s got his lips pressed tightly together, looking like he’s trying not to say something. </p><p>“So, you’re now Theon’s… guardian? He has to do anything you say?” Robb chuckles. “Bet you hate it, Theon.” </p><p>Theon’s eyes darken; he winds himself out from under Robb’s arm and grins broadly. </p><p>“How good of you to remind me, Stark. My lord bastard,” he turns to Jon with a sneer, “shall I take your belongings to your chambers?” </p><p>It’s like a slap in the face, and for a moment Jon can’t breathe – until he sees the apologetic look in Theon’s eyes, the slight nod towards Robb. Jon squares his shoulders, putting on his best sour look. </p><p>“Fuck off, Greyjoy.” He turns to Robb, who’s watching them with a grin. “See you at dinner, Stark. I need a thorough soak in the pools before I can come before Father’s eyes. Long journey.”</p><p>“You do that, my lord,” Theon says with a bow. “If your lordship allows it, I shall have myself drawn a bath.”</p><p>“Just see that you’re at dinner on time,” Jon says gruffly before he walks over to take his bags down from the horse and turns to go.</p><p>“How did you two manage not to kill each other on the way to Castle Black?” he hears Robb say, but he doesn’t catch Theon’s answer. </p><p>There’s little to unpack, and Jon drops his dirty clothes off in the washhouse on his way to the pools. He undresses in the cool air, though not nearly as cold as the air at the Wall, and with a small groan he glides into the hot water, feeling his tense muscles relax. Jon leans his head back, closing his eyes. He’d known it would be like that, had known they would have to get back to bastard and Greyjoy and that ridiculous antagonism. Jon sighs, sinking deeper until the water is up to his ears. He hates it already. </p><p>When he feels sufficiently clean and has dressed in fresh clothes, Jon goes to see Lord Stark in his solar. Father’s face lights up when Jon enters upon receiving permission to do so; he puts his quill aside and stands up, coming around his desk to pull Jon in a brief hug. </p><p>“It’s good to see you, Jon,” he says, a warm look in his eyes. “Your absence was felt keenly. Maybe your sister will talk to me and her mother again, now that you are back.” </p><p>Jon grins at that. Little Arya, loyal to the end.</p><p>“Your journey went well?” Father asks, settling down behind his desk and motioning for Jon to take a seat as well. “I confess I was very concerned when the maester received Theon’s message about the incident. You, alone with him and at his mercy…”</p><p>“Theon did everything in his power to help me,” Jon says stiffly. “He saved my life, Father.” </p><p>“Is that so.” Father strokes his beard, studying Jon thoughtfully. “I owe him my gratitude, then. Maybe he settles into his new role better than I thought. I didn’t think it’d work out. Theon doesn’t strike me the type to be content following a ba– your orders.” </p><p><em> You’d be surprised, </em>Jon thinks mutinously, but he just nods before he confirms the arrival of Maester Luwin’s books at Castle Black and delivers Benjen’s greetings. </p><p>“What did you think of the Wall, now that you’ve seen it?” Father asks. “Do you still have the wish to join the Watch?” </p><p>“It’s… not what I expected. But if the circumstances were different – aye, I’d join the Night’s Watch,” Jon says, firmly looking Father in the eye. “There’s honour to gain for a bastard at the Wall.” </p><p>“Another thing I am grateful to Theon for,” Father says slowly. “I never liked the thought of you buried up there.” He sighs, taking up his quill again. “Go and see your sister, Jon. Tell the septa I allow Arya’s lessons to be done for today.”</p><p>“Thank you, Father.” </p><p>“And, Jon?” Jon turns back to find Father smiling. “I know it can’t have been easy for you, taking an unnecessary journey just because – I know it isn’t fair. And yet you bear everything with a serenity beyond your years. It makes me proud that you are my blood.” </p><p>Jon swallows against the sudden lump in his throat. Unable to answer he just nods, hastily leaving Father’s solar before he can make a fool of himself. It means a lot to him, hearing Father say these words. When he arrives at the septa’s rooms, Jon has managed to regain his countenance. He knocks, waiting for permission to enter. </p><p>“Yes?” </p><p>Septa Mordane doesn’t look as if she appreciates Jon interrupting them, while Sansa shortly gazes up from her needlework, giving Jon a small smile before bending her head over the fabric in her hands again. Arya jumps in her seat, waving excitedly. </p><p>“Lord Stark has sent me to ask you to please excuse Arya from her work for today,” Jon says politely. “He said–” </p><p>“YES!!” </p><p>Before the septa can even utter a reply, Arya has already thrown her own work into a box and runs toward Jon, smacking into him and wrapping her arms around his waist. </p><p>“Oof,” Jon makes, quickly walking them out of the room under the disapproving glowers of the women present. “Slow down there, girl, or do you want to knock me out before I can even say hello?”</p><p>“Hello,” Arya grins. “How was the Wall? Was it cold? Did you see a snark? How many Wildlings attacked while you were there? Did you get me something?”</p><p>“What, like a pinecone from beyond the Wall?” Jon chuckles, dodging Arya’s pointy elbow. “Seriously, there’s nothing at the Wall you don’t get in Winterfell too. Rather, much less.”</p><p>The time until dinner flies past. Jon recounts every tiny detail he can think of, from Castle Black to the grove of weirwoods to what he’s seen along the journey. Arya and Bran, having joined them quickly, hang onto his every word, asking question after question. When it’s time to go to the Great Hall Jon promises to continue his tales tomorrow. They approach the High Table, and Jon bows curtly before Lady Stark, receiving a cool nod in return. Rickon, never far from Robb’s coattail, waves at Jon across the table. Jon’s answering smile is a little lopsided. </p><p>Theon seems to have gotten over himself; he’s sitting next to Robb and it’s a familiar picture: they’re sticking their heads together, whispering and cackling. Theon’s laughter rings out across the table at something Robb said, his hand on Robb’s shoulder. He’s not even looking Jon’s way when he takes a seat next to Arya. She keeps talking throughout the dinner, but by now it feels like a huge effort to really listen. Jon tries, making remarks and noises at the appropriate places. The mutton – one of his favourite foods – is hard to chew, tasting like nothing. Every bite seems to grow bigger in Jon’s mouth until he can barely swallow. </p><p>He’d known. He’d known it couldn’t have continued once they were back. But this… it’s like nothing had ever happened, as if the whole pledge and everything that followed had been a long, long dream. And now it’s over, and they live like they have always lived. Jon shoves his plate away without getting himself a second helping, and once the children are sent to bed he excuses himself with tiredness after the long journey. Father only nods understandingly, while Robb looks up with a worried gaze. </p><p>“Are you sure, Jon? I thought we could sit together a while, catch up?” </p><p>“Another time,” Jon says, forcing his lips into a lopsided smile before he turns to go. </p><p>“Leave him be,” he hears Theon say in his back, an impatient tone to his voice. “I’m glad when I don’t have to see his long face for a while.” </p><p>It hurts. Even if it’s necessary, only for show and not what Theon really means… it hurts. And then there’s still that tiny part in Jon’s mind, whispering to him. What if Theon does mean it? What if, now that he’s got his best friend back, he doesn’t want Jon anymore? Jon tries hard not to let the voice get too loud, tries to think of all the sweet things Theon said over the last days, but what he said today is louder, drowning out what was before. </p><p>He finds a fire going in his room and his bed freshly made, probably on Father’s orders, a treat to make up for being sent away. It’s a nice gesture, and Jon is grateful for it. He’s tired to his very bones, and it’s a relief to be able to just slip out of his clothes and under the thick furs. Jon had thought he’d be unable to sleep with all the thoughts going haywire in his mind, but as soon as his head hits the pillow he’s out, exhaustion taking over. </p><p>“Jon.” </p><p>Jon frowns, still very much asleep, but the low voice is insistent. </p><p>“Jon, wake up.” </p><p>It’s Theon’s voice, and for a moment Jon doesn’t know if he’s dreaming, but then the bed dips to the side and a cool hand touches his face. </p><p>“Sorry to wake you,” Theon whispers. “I know we shouldn’t, but – can I come in?” </p><p>“You’re already inside,” Jon mutters drowsily, receiving a low groan in return. </p><p>“Not the room, you idiot, the bed!” </p><p>Theon doesn’t wait for an answer, and then Jon is very much awake when Theon plasters his cool body along the length of Jon’s, slinging his arms around his waist. He’s shivering. Jon lays very still, staring into the darkness. The coldness from before is still lingering in his mind, creating a barrier between them. </p><p>“What if someone comes to wake me,” Jon finally says. “Or you. They can’t find us like this.” </p><p>“Fuck them. I feel like a right prick,” Theon mutters into Jon’s neck. “I didn’t think – I don’t like it. I don’t want to live like that anymore. First thing in the morning we’re going to get those locks.” He presses his lips against Jon’s nape. “I missed you.” </p><p>“You have Robb now,” Jon says petulantly. He knows it’s childish, but right now he can’t help himself. “I’d thought you’d be fully engaged with catching up.” </p><p>“Nah,” Theon says, sounding as if he’s smiling. “I retired not long after you. There’ll be time for that on the morrow.” He pauses, but when Jon doesn’t say anything Theon chuckles softly. “You’re really jealous, aren’t you, Snow?” </p><p>He crowds impossibly closer, speaking into Jon’s ear. </p><p>“You’re cute when you’re jealous,” Theon whispers, his breath ghosting over Jon’s skin and making him shiver. “Have you forgotten everything I’ve told you? It’s you, stupid. Not Robb, nevermind what notions I may have had once upon a time.” He nips at Jon’s earlobe. “That’s not reversible, I fear. Remember what I told you right at the start? You’re stuck with me, Jon, for good or worse.” </p><p>Jon turns around in Theon’s arms, searching for his mouth. The kiss is slow, soothing, easing Jon’s doubts. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” he finally says. “I guess it’s easier to believe when you’re saying mean things to me.” </p><p>Theon doesn’t answer, just keeps stroking Jon’s face, his hair. </p><p>“I don’t want to live like this anymore either,” Jon continues. “Can’t we pretend we’re having a truce of some sorts?”</p><p>“And then slowly become friendlier until no one will wonder about us spending the night in each other’s beds?” Theon sounds like he’s grinning. “I don’t think they’d buy us being <em> such </em> good friends.”</p><p>“Oh, shut up. I just – can’t we lay off the whole bickering? It’s not – it hurts.” Jon sighs unhappily. “Go ahead, call me a crybaby.” </p><p>“Crybaby,” Theon says, but it sounds like an endearment. “I know, Jon. We’ll figure something out, alright?”</p><p>Jon kisses him, lets his hands wander over Theon’s body, searching and caressing until Theon is gasping, until both of them are hard. </p><p>“Turn around,” Jon says, fumbling for his lamp, slicking his fingers with the oil from it. </p><p>Theon hisses when Jon gives him two at once, getting him ready fast and hard. “Are you trying to make a point there, Snow?” he asks, gasping as Jon removes his fingers and lines himself up. “Giving me a reminder who I belong to?” </p><p>“Can’t hurt,” Jon murmurs, pushing in in one, slow glide, relishing Theon’s cry of pleasure. “Make you think of me when you’re off spending the day with Robb.” </p><p>“Mmh, I like your way of thinking,” Theon says, and then he doesn’t say anything for a long while, too busy with muffling his moans. </p><p>“You should go back to your own chambers,” Jon says when they’re done, neither able to keep their eyes open. “There’ll be hell to pay if we’re found like this.”</p><p>“Nngh,” Theon makes indignantly. “Jus’ ‘s once. Don’ wan’ sleep ‘lone.” </p><p>“But what if–” </p><p>A loud snore interrupts Jon, and with a sigh he closes his eyes, snuggling against Theon’s back. Maybe just this once. And tomorrow they’ll get those locks. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Not bad for a first day, I'd say. Let's see if they can manage better on the morrow (Friday lol) </p><p>Next up: Theon POV!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0033"><h2>33. Chapter 33</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello! </p><p>I spent the whole day trying to draw Theon and failed miserably. Now I'm sad and angry. Sangry. </p><p>I AM DONE WRITING!! And made myself cry while doing it 😂</p><p>Anyhoo, here's Theon Talks Too Much Greyjoy, and his best friend!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They are lucky, no one comes to disturb them. Theon wakes up early, warm and comfortable, a little sore. He wants nothing more than stay, wait for Jon to wake up, give back what Jon gave him last night. But that would be too great a risk, so Theon reluctantly steals out of the cosy bed, kissing a sleeping Jon’s nose before he gathers his clothes and slips over to his own chambers. He’s just finished washing and dressing himself when the knock comes and Robb sticks his head in without waiting for a reply. </p><p>“Oh good, you’re up already,” he says brightly. “It’s a fine day, I thought we could go for a little hunt, just the two of us? We have so much to talk about. If you haven’t had enough riding those last weeks, that is.” </p><p><em> Nowhere near enough. </em>But he can’t say that out loud.</p><p>“Sure,” Theon says instead, “but we’ll have to wait until your brother is awake. I need the ba–” </p><p>He pauses, a surge of self-loathing passing through him. It had been way too easy to fall back into his old habits, talk like he used to before. But seeing Jon’s face after he’d said those words again… it hurts Theon too. He takes a deep breath. </p><p>“I need Jon’s permission to leave the castle,” he continues firmly. “It’s part of the whole pledge thing.” </p><p>“Oh, alright,” Robb says with a shrug, and like that he’s gone, knocking on Jon’s door before Theon can stop him. He hurries after him, just in time for Robb to enter Jon’s room without hesitation. “Rise and shine, lazy,” Robb sings, rattling Jon’s foot peeking out from under the furs. </p><p>If it weren’t such a fucked up situation it’d be hilarious, the way Jon jolts upright, how his eyes widen when he sees Robb, his panicked gaze flitting to the empty bed beside him before he notices Theon behind Robb, the relief washing over his face. Theon grimaces at Jon behind Robb’s back, shrugging lightly, and for a moment Jon almost smiles before he focuses on Robb. </p><p>“Where’s the fire?” he asks, suppressing a yawn. </p><p>“No fire,” Robb says, “but Theon says he needs your permission to go hunting with me.” </p><p>“Oh.” Jon glances at Theon, something clouding his face, but it’s gone again before Theon can make it out. </p><p>“Do I have permission to leave the castle?” Theon asks politely, earning himself a dubious look from Robb. </p><p>Jon’s eyes are very dark as he looks at Theon, beautiful and deep. There’s unease in them, a hint of sadness, but above everything there’s that love in his gaze, always making Theon feel like he’s wrapped in a warm blanket. </p><p>“Of course,” Jon finally says, not taking his eyes off Theon’s. “But tomorrow I want you to continue your work for the maester.”</p><p>“Your wish is my command,” Theon says, flinching when it comes out more tender than mocking, but it makes Jon smile for real, so what the fuck. </p><p>“This is weird,” Robb states, looking from Theon to Jon and back. “Can we get going now?”</p><p>The moment Theon steps out into the yard, something very big and very grey attacks him, pushing him to the ground. Before Theon can as much as open his mouth to complain, a large, wet tongue laps over his face, entirely covering him in slobber. </p><p>“What the fuck,” Theon garbles, trying to sit up under Grey Wind’s enthusiastic kisses. “Enough, you monster!” The wolf moves back, yelping and whining excitedly before he leaps at Theon again, pushing at him with his huge paws. “Drowned – fucking – I missed you too, boy, but – let me – enough already!” </p><p>Theon laughs helplessly when Grey Wind comes for another round of slobbering, until finally a loud whistle rings out. Grey Wind’s ears prick up and he bounds away, leaping around Robb with his tongue lolling out of his mouth, yapping happily. </p><p>“Where has he been yesterday?” Theon asks once he’s gotten back to his feet. </p><p>“Hunting, I guess.” Robb grins. “You look a little destroyed, Theon.”</p><p>“Direwolf attacks do that to you.” </p><p>Theon pats himself down, wiping his face on his sleeve before he notices with a pang he’s wearing the green doublet, the one Jon had borrowed once. Grey Wind yaps again, closing his eyes in rapture when Theon scratches his head. He and Robb don’t talk much while they wait for their horses to be ready, but Theon can sense Robb giving him side glances every so often. Jon comes out, dressed for training, just when they’re about to lead their horses out of the stable, and Theon automatically stops. </p><p>“Good hunting,” Jon says to Robb, but he does extends his hand, just a little, his fingertips grazing Theon’s. “See you later for a bout of knocking you into the dirt?” </p><p>“Sure thing,” Robb replies with a grin, climbing onto his horse. “But we’ll see who’s going to be the one eating dirt! Come on, Theon!” </p><p><em> See you later, elska,</em> Theon mouths, winking at Jon before he mounts his horse and follows Robb out of the gates. </p><p>They have been riding in silence for a while when Robb clears his throat, waiting for Theon to look at him. </p><p>“So,” he says. “I didn’t catch it yesterday, but it seems you and Jon are getting along better than before.” </p><p><em> Right to the point, Stark, </em>Theon thinks reproachfully. </p><p>“I would’ve thought you two would be worse than ever after what happened,” Robb continues, chuckling. “Honestly, I am surprised you haven’t already killed him. Don’t you hate it that he gets to tell you what to do and what not? That you have to ask him for permission to leave the castle?”</p><p>“Sure, at first.” Theon shrugs, trying to keep his voice light. “Guess I’ve gotten used to it. He’s not the worst guardian to have.” </p><p>He smiles to himself, thinking of how different he’d talked a few months back, right after the pledge. It still scares him a little, how fast and how much everything has changed. </p><p>“I made it quite hard for him at first, but…” He looks up at Robb. “Your brother saved my life, Stark. He did it without any ulterior motive, just because he’s a good person. He gave up his dream of joining the Night’s Watch for a man he didn’t like. He burdened himself with someone he could expect nothing but hate from.” </p><p>“I think,” Robb says slowly, “maybe he did it for me? Because he knows how much you mean to me? I don’t mean to sound presumptuous, but…”</p><p>“Aye, you’re right of course. That surely was part of his motivation. But to be honest… I don’t think I could’ve done something like this, give up so much. Not even for… I’m not like him.”</p><p>“Me neither.” Robb’s voice is quiet, and when Theon gazes over, Robb’s face is red, his eyes trained on the way ahead. “I don’t think I would’ve thought of it. That there could be a possibility to do something like this. I would’ve tried to talk Father out of it, maybe I would’ve tried to help you escape… but I never would’ve thought of <em> that</em>.” </p><p>“Maester Luwin told me Jon spent a day and a whole night searching the library. He found him there with a candle, poring over ancient books, barely able to keep his eyes open anymore. Said he was afraid Jon was going to set the whole castle on fire.” Theon laughs, shaking his head. “He was determined to find something. Hey, Robb…”</p><p>Theon’s smile wavers. He shouldn’t ask. It’s in the past, what good would it do any of them? But some part of him has to hear the answer. Theon takes a deep breath. </p><p>“Would you have done it? If you’d known about Lakh Wal Lach?”</p><p>It’s silent for a very long time, long enough to know what the answer is. It still stings a little, like the memory of a slap, but nothing more. </p><p>“I’m sorry, Theon,” Robb finally says, voice wobbly. “I want to say yes, I swear I want to. But I’m not – I can’t. I can’t say yes with absolute certainty. And I’m glad I’ll never have to find out.”</p><p>“Don’t worry,” Theon says, giving Robb a lopsided smirk. “Not something I could hold before you, honestly. I mean, you’re like a brother to me, more family than my own blood ever was. But I couldn’t have done it, not even for you.” </p><p>“Seems we’re both cowards then,” Robb says. “Good thing Jon is not.” </p><p>“Drowned fuck, definitely not. He’s the bravest, most loyal, kindest–”</p><p>Theon knows he should stop now, maybe he’s already said too much – but somehow he really wants Robb to understand how much what Jon has done meant to him. </p><p>“I’m sorry, but… he’s got more honour in his little finger than any of us put together. Including Lord Stark.”</p><p>“I still don’t want to believe Father would’ve gone through with it,” Robb says slowly. “You grew up among his own children. Just because <em> your </em> father–”</p><p>“Drowned fuck, Robb,” Theon cuts him off, giving him an irritated look. “Maybe you don’t know your own father as well as you thought. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure it bothered him, having to take his ward’s head. But if it hadn’t been for Jon, I wouldn’t be here now.” He scoffs. “Didn’t it seem weird how quickly everything happened? Almost as soon as he got word from the king, he had me out in the yard in front of the whole of Winterfell, had Ice in hand–” </p><p>Theon breaks off, shuddering at the memory. He’d felt strangely vacant that day, had only woken up from his stupor at Jon’s voice invoking the law. Drowned <em> fucking </em> God, how he’d hated him in that moment… </p><p>“Theon.” </p><p>Theon looks up at Robb, at his bright blue eyes, brimming with tears, and suddenly he’s tired of this, tired of thinking about what had happened. </p><p>“Don’t go all weepy on me here,” Theon says teasingly. “I still have my head, don’t I? And while it’s true that I haven’t been thrilled about Jon being in charge of my life… it’s not so bad. He hasn’t once tried to take advantage of his power.” </p><p>“No, Jon would never do that.” Robb sniffs. “I can’t wrap my head around how much everything has changed. You even look different than before. And then you speak of Jon so warmly, almost as if…”</p><p>
  <em> Fuck. </em>
</p><p>“Well...” Theon shrugs. “Once you get past the pouting and sulking, he’s decent enough company.” </p><p>“I’m glad to hear it.” Robb’s smile is a little lopsided, a strange edge to his voice. “Maybe we can spend more time together, the three of us, now that you’re not at each other’s throats all the time.”</p><p>“Maybe,” Theon answers, unsure if that’s really a good idea. On one hand it’d mean getting to spend more time with Jon, on the other… it’d be hard, being around Jon and not being able to touch him. </p><p>“And, Theon?” Robb leads his horse closer to Theon’s, reaching out and taking Theon’s hand, squeezing it. “I’m sorry for what happened. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when you would have needed me. It can’t have been easy, knowing your own father would condemn you to death.” </p><p>“Thanks, man.” Theon squeezes back before he takes his hand away. “I may not have a family anymore but I still have my best friend, and my – and Jon. I’m fine, I promise.” </p><p>“Let’s see if we can find a buck before I start crying,” Robb says, digging his heels into his horse’s sides and galloping away. “Come on, Greyjoy,” he calls back. </p><p>“Coming,” Theon says, grinning widely as he speeds after Robb. Maybe some things aren’t what they used to, and won’t be ever again – but having Robb back feels truly amazing. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So. Huh. What do you think :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0034"><h2>34. Chapter 34</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hiya, </p><p>I fear I don't have anything interesting to say today. Life's been shite, and I'm glad I still have a bit of this story left to share with you.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Good fight, Snow!”</p><p>Jon takes the offered hand, letting Robb pull him upright. To his satisfaction, Robb is out of breath, red-faced, and his right side will hurt for some days where Jon got him with the blunt training sword. </p><p>“I’ll destroy you tomorrow, Stark, don’t you worry about that.” </p><p>“I’m looking forward to it.” Robb grins, turning to look over at Theon, who’s been watching them from the side. “You want a go at one of us?”</p><p>“Nay, thank you,” Theon drawls. “I’m not in the mood to have my arse kicked. But if you’re up for a little shooting contest…”</p><p>“No way,” Robb and Jon say at the same time, and Robb laughs. “There, that was definite. Neither of us stands a chance there. I’d much rather have a nice, long soak in the pools. You coming?” </p><p>“You go.” Theon looks at the sky. “I want to shoot a few arrows while it’s still light. Hey, Snow, what’s with your hand?” </p><p>“Hm? Oh, it’s nothing.” Jon stops sucking at the chafed skin on his palm. “Just a scratch.”</p><p>“I wonder where I heard that before,” Theon mutters, coming over and taking Jon’s hand, inspecting it closely. “Take care to clean that, aye? And ask the maester for something to put on it.”</p><p>“Really, it’s noth–”</p><p>“One more nothing and I’m dragging you there myself!” For a tiny moment Theon’s hand lingers, his thumb stroking Jon’s skin before he takes a step back. “Alright, off you go. I’ll see you both at dinner.”</p><p>And with that he turns and stalks away, leaving Jon flustered and feeling hot. Robb has been silently watching the exchange, and now he gives Jon a shrewd look as he picks up both their discarded swords. Jon follows him to the armoury, shoulders around his ears. Robb doesn’t say a single word on their way to the godswood, and finally Jon can’t bear it anymore. </p><p>“So,” he starts, “how was your hunting trip this morning? I didn’t see any game when you came back?” </p><p>“There wasn’t any,” Robb says curtly, suddenly turning around with a jolt. “What was that about just before? You and Theon – you have private jokes now?”</p><p>“Long story,” Jon mutters, kicking his feet. “You wouldn’t want–” </p><p>“Oh, I definitely would.” Robb’s mouth is tight, his eyes dark. “Go on, tell me your long story.” </p><p>“Alright.” Jon takes a deep breath. “When we were on our way to Castle Black I got attacked by a shadowcat. Had a few scratches, but they weren’t deep, so I told Theon it was nothing. And then they got inflamed and I had a fever. Theon took me to an inn and did what he could to help me. He saved my life. There, that’s it.” </p><p>“That wasn’t that long.” Robb’s expression softens, turns into a smile. “Well, that’s quite the tale. Was that what changed your perception of him? You don’t seem to despise him like you used to.” </p><p>“Maybe that was it,” Jon says. It’s only half a lie, really. “He’s not so bad once you get past the arrogant grin. He can be decent company.”</p><p>“You two sound so much alike now, it’s eerie.” Robb shakes his head, pulling off his tunic. “Not that I’m not happy you’re finally getting along, but I confess it takes some getting used to.”</p><p>“Aye, it certainly does.” Jon follows suit, letting himself slide into the hot water after Robb. </p><p>“What’s that on your neck?” Robb asks, glancing at Jon with narrowed eyes. “Did I get you there too?” </p><p>“Oh, aye, I think so.” Jon represses the urge to cover the spot Theon had spent an inordinate amount of time sucking at last night. “You’re too quick for me.”</p><p>“You’ll get there one day,” Robb says in his best condescending tone, yelping when Jon splashes water in his face. “Stop it, you brat, or do you want to swallow pool water?” </p><p>Jon answers with another splash, and then he screams like a girl when Robb comes for him. It’s a short fight. Robb, taller and stronger, has Jon in an iron hold before long and pushes him underwater until Jon pinches his arm. </p><p>“I yield,” he splutters, and, “brute!”</p><p>“Och, you love me,” Robb says, leaning back against the edge of the pool again.</p><p>“Can’t deny that.” </p><p>After that they lapse into silence, and Jon is on the brink of dozing off in the comfortable warmth, when suddenly Robb starts to talk again.</p><p>“It was so brave of you, to do what you did. Invoking the law, I mean. Taking the pledge.” </p><p>“It wasn’t that – you would’ve done the same if you’d been here.” </p><p>“But I wasn’t. I know, not of my own choosing,” Robb adds impatiently when Jon opens his mouth. “But it’s still – thank you, Jon. For being here. For saving my best friend.” </p><p>Jon just nods, his face feeling hot from more than the water’s warmth. He’d done it for Robb, more than for Theon. Certainly not for the praise. </p><p>“Hmmm...” Robb sinks deeper into the water, sighing distractedly. “That’s what’s missing in Riverrun. Hot pools. And it’s not even that cold there. How cold was it at the Wall?”</p><p>“Very. That’s the reason why I didn’t join the Watch after all,” Jon says, straight-faced. “The distinct lack of hot pools.”</p><p>“Are you very sad you don’t get to?” Robb opens one eye, peering at Jon. “I thought you’d resent Theon for taking that away from you.” </p><p>“Gods, no. I mean, I did, at first. But having been there… it’s not the glamorous life I’d imagined. Besides, there are more important things.” </p><p>“That’s a whole new tune from you,” Robb observes. “Did Theon like it?” </p><p>“Ha,” Jon makes, chuckling. “He hated it. Wouldn’t stop bitching about the cold, despite the huge fire we had going. But there were some things he liked. You should’ve seen his face when we were standing on top of the Wall and he saw the sea in the distance.”</p><p>“He’s taking it astonishingly well, all that fucked up shit his father did,” Robb muses. “I’d have thought he’d be more upset.” </p><p>“Oh, he was. Burned everything he owned with a kraken on it.” Jon grins, thinking of his plan to purchase a new cloak for Theon in the fashion of the Ironborn. “And on the night we took the pledge he got so drunk he fell asleep on Ros and I had to drag him home.”</p><p>“Good gods, I wish I had seen that.” Robb laughs leaning his head back. “Poor Ros, normally he never leaves her unsatisfied.” </p><p>Jon bites his tongue before he can say something stupid, something revealing. They haven’t talked about that topic, him and Theon, but they will have to at some point. Sure, Theon promised not to do anything in that regard ever again, but then who knows if he wouldn’t get restless over time? And somehow the thought of Theon going to see Ros isn’t as painful as thinking of Theon with some faceless woman, just to take the edge of. Ros is different. Theon likes her, Jon is sure of that. He could tolerate Theon going to her.</p><p>“Hello? Jon?”</p><p>Jon looks up guiltily. Apparently Robb has been talking the whole time, and he hasn’t heard a single thing. </p><p>“Don’t tell me you were lost in your thoughts of a certain red-haired whore,” Robb teases good-naturedly. “As far as I remember you always refused to see her. Fuck, Jon, you don’t know what you’re missing.”</p><p>“Were there any nice girls in Riverrun?” Jon asks in a desperate attempt to get the topic off of Ros and her red hair and who said red hair might have reminded Theon of. “Did you get any… you know.” </p><p>“Sex?” Robb laughs when Jon makes a face. “Oh, come on, Jon! Now that you’re not going to be a Brother of the Night’s Watch, you might as well get used to the thought of getting married some day. Sex is great, believe me.” </p><p>“I know,” Jon says, heaving a sigh. “That’s not the problem. I just don’t want to father a bastard, you know.” </p><p>“Aye, you’ve said it often enough.” Robb rolls his eyes. “And <em> I </em> have said often enough how there are many ways to avoid – wait. You <em> know? </em> What in the seven hells do you – Jon, did you – oh dear gods.” Robb’s eyes are as wide as saucers. “Who is she? Someone I know? Why didn’t you say a word? Was it a Wilding? Jon, you’ve <em> got </em>to tell me–” </p><p>He breaks off, brows gathering when Jon doesn’t answer. Jon looks away, not knowing what to say. He’s already said way too much anyway. For a moment he thinks about making up some wild story, about a fiery Wilding girl kidnapping and seducing him, but then he’s never really been able to lie to Robb. In the end Jon simply shrugs, giving Robb a short glance. Robb is staring back, his face pale, suspicion plain in his gaze. Jon looks back down on his hand, on the spot Theon had stroked just before. </p><p>“Look, I didn’t mean anything by it. There wasn’t – not like – it’s nothing.” </p><p>“It wasn’t a girl, was it?” Robb swallows audibly, “I thought something was off, but I’d never…” </p><p>Jon’s doesn’t dare to look Robb in the eyes; his face must be flaming red, his stomach is churning. </p><p>“You didn’t,” Robb finally whispers, staring at Jon as if seeing him for the first time. “Tell me this isn’t true.”</p><p>“Robb,” Jon says weakly, “it’s not–”</p><p>“Don’t.<em> ” </em>Robb has gotten to his feet, turning his back on Jon as he clambers out of the water, hastily pulling on his clothes. “Was it him who started it?” he finally asks, still not looking at Jon. “Of course it was him, why am I even asking.”</p><p>“It wasn’t his fault,” Jon says. “It’s not like – it just happened.” </p><p>“It just happened.” Robb nods, blankly staring at a point somewhere left of Jon. “That’s – I need to go. See you at dinner.” </p><p>Jon looks after him, a tight feeling of unease tugging at his chest. Something about Robb’s reaction is off, making him nervous. He’d expected something different. What, Jon doesn’t know, but not this… this strange calmness. Jon sighs, slowly getting out of the water. He’ll give him some time, then try to explain again. </p><p>“There you are,” Theon says as he walks through Jon’s door later. “I thought maybe you two had stayed too long in the pools and simply dissolved – Jon? Are you alright?”</p><p>Jon doesn’t look up from the boot he’s polishing. “Robb knows,” he mutters.“ We were talking and I didn’t pay attention… he guessed the truth.” </p><p>For a long moment Theon says nothing, doesn’t move. “Judging by the look on your face I suppose his reaction wasn’t positive,” he finally says. “Was he angry?” </p><p>“He seemed irritated.” Jon shrugs. “I wouldn’t call it angry, just… he wouldn’t look at me.”</p><p>“Well, I think we can’t begrudge him a bit of surprise. Drowned fuck, <em> I’m </em>still surprised everytime I look at you and want to ravish that pouty mouth instead of strangle you.” When Jon gives him an impressive glare, Theon just grins. “There, that’s my boy. He’ll get used to the thought, don’t worry, elska.”</p><p>“You seem astonishingly unbothered that Robb knows,” Jon observes. “Why are you not yelling at me for spilling the beans?” </p><p>“I would, if I hadn’t laid the groundwork for him to find out.” Theon’s grin turns a little sheepish. “Honestly, I thought he’d already realized the truth after we went riding and I couldn’t stop mentioning how wonderful you are.” </p><p>“You didn’t!” Jon’s cheeks are growing hot at the thought. “Alright, we’re both at fault. And he really didn’t seem angry. Maybe it’s been stupid to make such a big thing out of it.” </p><p>“It <em> is </em> a big thing, Snow,” Theon says condescendingly. “Now get your feet in those boots and let’s find something to eat, I’m starving.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Is he angry? Surprised?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0035"><h2>35. Chapter 35</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hiya, hope you're all well. </p><p>A gentle reminder before you read the chapter: We love Robb. He's a good person, he's just... let's say he'll have some explaining to do in later chapters.<br/>We love Robb very much and won't bash him 🤨</p><p>@Buena I think I said the bath was in this chapter, but it didn't make it. Now it's in the next one, so you'll get it on Monday!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You’re right, he’s not angry,” Theon whispers to Jon. “He’s fucking furious.” </p><p>They had been last to arrive at dinner, and for the first time there hadn’t been a free seat next to Robb. They’ve settled at the other side of the table, next to Bran. Robb had barely looked up at their appearance, giving them a curt nod before turning back to his plate. Jon frowns at Theon’s words, looking over at his brother. Sure, he still seems a little off, but then Theon’s right, it must’ve been one hell of a surprise. But furious? Robb doesn’t look furious to Jon. </p><p>“Are you sure?” he whispers back. “Maybe I should try to talk to him, try to explain.”</p><p>“Hm, I’d give it a few days. At least let him sleep it over.” </p><p>There’s an uncharacteristic look of concern on Theon’s face as he watches Robb eat. Jon watches him too, flinching when Robb suddenly shoves his plate away, mumbling something about being tired and leaving the room at a brisk pace. For a moment Jon hesitates, but then the longing to speak to his brother wins out and he excuses himself, ignoring Theon hissing after him. He catches Robb outside. </p><p>“Robb? Please wait, I want to talk to you.”</p><p>“I’m sorry, I’d rather you don’t.” Robb’s eyes are hooded, very dark, and again he’s not looking at Jon but on the ground. “I’m very tired. I’ll see you tomorrow.” </p><p>“Robb–”</p><p>Suddenly Robb’s face loses all colour, he’s staring at something behind Jon, and Jon starts when a hand comes down on his shoulder. </p><p>“Leave him be, Jon,” Theon says. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”</p><p>Robb’s eyes are glued to Theon’s hand on Jon’s shoulder, his breath coming faster. </p><p>“Come on,” Theon insists. “Let’s go–”</p><p>“You fucking – how could you,” Robb says lowly. He looks up at Theon, eyes burning. “Him, of all people – and you?” Now Robb does look at Jon, and Jon flinches at the contempt in his eyes. “You actually fell for his bullshit? <em> You? </em> Jon I’m too prude to even <em> kiss </em> a girl Snow? <em> You fucking hypocrite!!” </em> He’s nearly yelling, taking a step closer. “You play the whore for <em> him</em>?” </p><p>“Shut it,” Theon hisses, visibly angry. “Have a go at me if it makes you feel better, but don’t talk to Jon like that!”</p><p>Robb just scoffs, his cheeks flaming red.</p><p>“Robb,” Jon pleads, trying to fight back the tears, “Robb, I swear it isn’t like that. It’s not – I didn’t <em> plan </em> to fall in love with him, it was–” </p><p>“Love? <em> Love? </em>Gods, just listen to yourself...” </p><p>Robb laughs, a horrible sound; and with that he turns on his heels and marches away, leaving Jon feeling worse than he ever felt before. Theon is very silent when they go to bed, when they undress, turning his back on Jon when they’ve slipped beneath the furs. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” Jon says into the silent darkness. “I should’ve listened to you. I never thought he’d – I hoped–” </p><p>“You were wrong,” Theon says gruffly. “I know him. I know when he’s overwhelmed with – Jon, are you crying?” </p><p>“No,” Jon says, but of course he is. He can’t forget the look of disgust on Robb’s face, the hateful words he’d thrown at him. He sighs, rubbing his eyes in a futile attempt to stop the tears. </p><p>“Still a crybaby I see,” Theon says as he turns to Jon, drawing him close. “Don’t think about what he said. He didn’t mean it.”</p><p>“He despises me,” Jon mutters into Theon’s chest. “He said–”</p><p>“Don’t be daft, he doesn’t despise you. He’s angry. Mostly at himself I think.” Theon sighs. “I don’t like the things he said to you either, believe me. But I’d be very surprised if he’s not regretting it already.” </p><p>“I hope you’re right.” </p><p>“I usually am.” Theon’s voice sounds like he’s smiling, and Jon shoves him. “Stop that and go to sleep. Maybe he’s over the worst by the morrow.”</p><p>Unfortunately, Theon is wrong. The following days are hell. Robb is behaving horribly. He’s short with anyone who approaches him, even avoids the little ones when they try to talk to him. His face is a stony grimace most of the time, turning outright murderous whenever Jon or Theon come into his sight. It goes so far even Father notices, taking Jon aside to ask what happened. Jon can only shrug and say he doesn’t know. The situation is getting to him more and more with each passing day. If it weren’t for Theon it would have long become unbearable. He sleeps in Jon’s bed every night, creeping back to his own chambers before dawn. Jon hates waking up alone, but it’s better than not having Theon at all. </p><p>Not that there’s much going on. Theon had tried a few times, but Jon had pretended to be asleep. It’s not that he doesn’t want Theon, but Robb’s words won’t leave Jon’s mind. Whore. He always tried so hard not to be like that, avoiding all kinds of physical intimacy… He wonders if Robb would’ve said the same if it had been a girl Jon had fallen in love with, or if it were any other man. It’s hard to put his finger on it, why Robb is so angry with him. Because Jon turned out to be a deviant – or because it’s Theon?</p><p>“Snow, we can’t go on like that,” Theon says when they find themselves alone in the armoury. “I’m really trying to be–” He sighs when Jon flinches from his touch, nervously looking around. “I know it’s hard for you, Jon, but you can’t let that – I need you.” </p><p>“I know.” Jon looks at his feet, once more feeling stupid, helpless. “I just can’t forget how disgusted he was. He still doesn’t even look at me!”</p><p>“<em>I’m </em> looking at you,” Theon says impatiently. “Listen, Jon… It’s not like you’re running around bending over for every cock you come across. You’re – you love me.”</p><p>“I do,” Jon says, involuntarily taking a step closer. “But I did engage in – it started before I loved you.” </p><p>“Maybe you already loved me then,” Theon says teasingly. “And were just too stuck up to admit it.” </p><p>“Surely not,” Jon huffs, a warm glow starting in his chest, despite everything. “You were insufferable!” </p><p>“I still am,” Theon says, grabbing Jon’s waist and pulling him close, and this time Jon doesn’t resist when Theon bends his head to kiss him.</p><p>“You truly are,” he mutters, leaning his head against Theon’s chest. “I’m sorry.” </p><p>Theon doesn’t answer, but his hand keeps stroking Jon’s back, soothing and warm, and Jon tilts his head, searching for Theon’s mouth again. </p><p>“Jon? Are you in here? I have–” </p><p>They surge apart as Arya crashes through the door, but it’s too late. Jon can see it on her face, a moment of confusion, followed by comprehension, then anger. She gives a strangled cry, surging towards Theon and pummeling his chest with her little fists. </p><p>“<em>Get away from my brother, you–</em>”</p><p>“Arya!” Jon shouts, catching her around the waist and pulling her away. “Stop it, it’s not like that!” </p><p>She tries to get out of Jon’s hold and back at her target, her little face promising bloodshed. </p><p>“Seriously, Arya! I wanted it, he didn’t – <em> Arya!!</em>” Jon turns her around, gripping her shoulders. “I wanted it,” he repeats firmly. “Theon is my – I like him, do you understand me?”</p><p>Finally she stops struggling, staring up at Jon with big eyes. </p><p>“Great. Fucking great,” Theon mutters. “We might as well shout it from the battlements.”</p><p>“Arya won’t tell anyone,” Jon says quickly, giving his sister a pleading gaze. “You won’t, right?” </p><p>Arya shakes her head, still seeming too baffled to speak. Jon sighs, letting go of her. </p><p>“You like him?” Arya finally whispers. “You like <em> Greyjoy? </em>But he’s horrible!” </p><p>“Thank you so very much, Underfoot,” Theon snaps. “I’ll have you know–”</p><p>“Theon!” Jon gives him a reproachful look before turning back to Arya. “I know he can seem that way, but we spent a lot of time together lately. He’s not so bad.”</p><p>“<em>Not so bad?!</em>” </p><p>“Shut it,” Jon tells him, and, miraculously, Theon does. “I’ve grown to like him quite a lot,” he continues to Arya. “Actually I’m pretty much in love with him.”</p><p>“What, like in Sansa’s stories?” </p><p>“Well, not exactly. Your brother hasn’t won a tourney for me yet,” Theon mutters. “Nor has he carried me away on his horse–”</p><p>“Good gods.” Jon rolls his eyes. “But yes, a bit like the stories. I know it’s hard to understand, but sometimes it happens that two men–”</p><p>“I know <em> that</em>.” Now it’s Arya’s turn to roll her eyes. “That one boy who helps with the firewood, Alfrid? He’s got a boy he likes in Wintertown. Just...” She sighs heavily, giving Theon a shrewd glance. “Does it have to be <em> Greyjoy</em>?” </p><p>“Yes,” Jon says, unable to fight the smile spreading on his face. “I fear it has to be him.” </p><p>“Hmp. You better be nice to Jon then,” she hisses at Theon. “Or I’ll make you regret it!” </p><p>“I <em> am </em> being nice to Jon!” Theon says, obviously miffed. “As a matter of fact I was about to be <em> very </em> nice to him before you showed your horseface in here.”</p><p>“Ewww, you’re <em> so gross!” </em></p><p>“Would you two please cut it out,” Jon groans, but he can’t stop smiling. Arya knows. Arya doesn’t think less of him. </p><p>“Is that why Robb is so angry with you?” Arya asks when they leave the armoury together, nonchalantly shoving her elbow into Theon’s ribs. “Because he found out?” </p><p>“Aye,” Jon says, and now his smile does fade. “He’s not – he seems to think it’s not right.” </p><p>“That’s stupid.” Arya trips over Theon’s strategically placed foot, giving him a withering glare. “He should stop behaving like a big idiot and–” </p><p>She stops, staring ahead. When Jon follows her gaze, his stomach drops. Robb is standing at the edge of the courtyard, fists balled, eyes dark with anger. </p><p>“Arya, Mother is searching for you,” he says stiffly. “Stop encouraging her to run away from her work, Snow.”</p><p>“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Jon hears Theon say, and before he can stop him he’s already marching over to Robb, bristling with anger. “What the <em> fuck </em> is your problem, Robb?”</p><p>“Fuck off, Greyjoy,” Robb says, eyes cold. “I don’t have anything to say to you. Take your slut of the day and get out of my sight.” </p><p>Arya’s cry of outrage is ringing in Jon’s ears, still not loud enough to drown out Robb’s words. Their eyes meet and for a moment Robb seems as shocked as Jon feels, horror in his gaze, but then it hardens again as Robb turns to go.</p><p>“Oh no, you don’t,” Theon says grimly, taking a step and clutching Robb’s arm. “You stay right where you are until you stop being such an arse.”  </p><p>“Leave it, Theon,” Jon says hoarsely, horrified at how broken his voice sounds. “It’s no use, please–”</p><p>Theon doesn’t seem to have heard him, not letting go of Robb’s arm. “Are you out of your mind, Robb?” he asks. “What’s gotten into you?”</p><p>“Please,” Robb scoffs, shaking Theon’s hand off with a jerk. “What’s gotten into <em> you</em>? Couldn’t keep it in your pants for even a few weeks on the road? No, of course not, you actually have to go and use his weakness for your fucking perversions!” Robb takes a threatening step towards Theon, hissing in his face. “Did you tell him, Theon? That he’s just another one of your conquests to pass the time?”</p><p>“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Theon says slowly. “Go and get over yourself, maybe actually think about what you’re saying.” He shakes his head, his lips pulling into a nasty parody of a smile. “Just one more thing, Stark. Is this about me – or Jon? Can’t bear the thought I’m fucking your poor, sweet bastard brother? Think I lured him in with my evil ways? Or do you want to be in his place–”</p><p>Robb’s fist hits his face before he can react, sending Theon flying and Jon screams, forgetting about everything else as he hurries over, dropping to his knees beside Theon. Blood is gushing from his nose, he’s spitting and cursing, but to Jon’s relief that seems to be the only damage.</p><p>“Is he alright?” </p><p>Jon looks up at Arya, at her worried little face. She grabs Theon’s arm, and together with her Jon hefts Theon back to his feet. He doesn’t put weight on his left foot, has probably twisted his ankle when falling. Arya has produced a grubby handkerchief from somewhere, holding it out to Theon. He presses it against his nose, flinching and muttering something Jon can’t make out, and suddenly the shame and desperation are gone and Jon is angry, angrier than he ever felt in his life. He turns to Robb, still standing there with hanging arms, his face unsure instead of furious. </p><p>“Theon, I didn’t–” Robb says, breaking off when he sees the look on Jon’s face.</p><p>“Are you fucking happy now?” Jon demands, voice shaking with rage. When Robb doesn’t answer, Jon snorts derisively. “He’s right. You know shit about us.”</p><p>He turns his back on his brother, supporting Theon as they slowly leave the courtyard, past a few curious wenches. None of them say a word, just staring at him, but Jon couldn’t care less. He’s so fucking done. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I hope you still like the story. I'm having a weird time atm where I'm utterly convinced I'm producing nothing but horseshit, so I'm double thankful for all your wonderful comments and kudos and omg so many bookmarks, every time I look at the stats I wanna bawl. THANK YOU!! ❤️❤️❤️</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0036"><h2>36. Chapter 36</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hullo! The heat has started - thankfully very late this year - and I'm just glad I already have this story finished. I can feel heat-brain creeping up on me, this year mixed with pandemic-brain and global-revolution-brain. Which renders it pretty useless lol </p><p>Anyway, curtain rise for two stupid boys, their stupid best friend/brother and a very self-indulgent bath.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I dink he broke by dose,” Theon says once Jon has dragged him into his chamber and placed him on the bed. “Ad I twisted by foot.” </p><p>“Shush,” Jon says gruffly, kneeling to pull Theon’s left boot off. “I can’t understand a single word you’re saying.” </p><p>“Very fuddy, Sdow,” Theon mutters, yelping when Jon applies pressure to his ankle. </p><p>“I’m going to get you something cool for that,” Jon says. “Do you need anything else?” </p><p>“I’d prefer a bahf,” Theon slurs, wagging his eyebrows. “Ad where’s by kiss for so valiaddly defedding your hodour?”</p><p>“My Hodor?” </p><p>“Hodour. HODOUR. <em> Fuck!</em>” </p><p>“If you mean honour, yes, that was very gallant of you.” Jon smiles lopsidedly. “And exceptionally stupid. You shouldn’t have provoked him.” </p><p>“Got dat comig, de arse. <em> Fuck!</em>” Theon grits his teeth, doing something to his nose that results in a harsh, grating noise, making the hair in Jon’s neck bristle. Theon tentatively tries to breathe through his nose, taking the bloodied handkerchief he’s still clutching and snorting into it. He sniffs again. “Better. I said, he had that coming, the arse.” </p><p>“Loads better.” Jon smiles. “What was the rest you said?”</p><p>“I want a bath, and a kiss,” Theon grins, the dried blood on his mouth and chin cracking. “Maybe the bath first, though.”</p><p>“Yes, please,” Jon says, but he does place a small kiss on Theon’s forehead. “I’ll be right back.” </p><p>He goes to open the door – and flinches back when he comes face to face with Robb. He looks sheepishly down on something wrapped in a dripping cloth that he’s carrying in his hands. Behind him Jon can see Arya, arms crossed before her chest, tapping her foot imperiously. </p><p>“I brought ice for Theon’s face,” Robb says quietly. “I – can I come in?” </p><p>Jon silently steps aside, trying to swallow the new surge of anger rising in his chest. He watches warily as Robb stops an arm’s length before Theon, holding out the cloth. Theon takes it, giving Robb a dark glare as he holds it to his face. </p><p>“Could you tell someone we need a bath?” Jon asks his sister. “And some more ice for Theon’s foot.” </p><p>She nods and runs off, and Jon closes the door, walking around Robb and to Theon’s side. He takes the cloth from Theon’s hands and starts to wipe at the dried blood on his face. And waits. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” Robb finally says, still not looking up at either of them. “I didn’t mean to – I’m sorry.” </p><p>“For making a prick of yourself, for breaking my nose, or for being a huge arsehole to your brother?” Theon asks once his mouth and chin are blood-free, his voice deceptively soft. </p><p>“That.” Robb sighs. “I mean, all of it. The last one? I wasn’t – you were right. I <em> am </em> jealous.” </p><p>At that Jon makes a noise, but immediately Theon’s hand closes around his cautioningly. Robb gives Jon a short glance. </p><p>“Not like that, I swear. Well, maybe a little? It’s just…” He sighs again, wincing as he rubs his right hand. “I don’t know how to explain it. You’re my brother, Jon. Theon is my best friend. I love you both so much. And now you two go and find each other and–” He shrugs. “I’m not going to be a part of…” He waves his hand. “Of this. I don’t want to lose either of you.” </p><p>“Man, you’ve been going about this the wrong way then,” Theon says, rolling his eyes. “Do you have any idea how much you hurt your brother with your shit? He thought you hated him. He thought you were disgusted with him – for what? For finally letting himself have something you and I always pestered him to try.” Theon sneers, voice dripping with contempt. “If anyone’s a hypocrite, it’s you, Stark.” </p><p>“I’m sorry,” Robb says again, finally looking Jon straight in the eyes. “I’m so sorry for what I said, Jon. I didn’t mean any of it. Not a single word. I was just so angry... not at you, mind. Of course I’m not disgusted with you. You did nothing wrong.” </p><p>“Then why did you say it?” Jon asks. </p><p>He’s listened to their exchange silently, his feelings in uproar. What he wants, what he really wants, is to tell Robb they’ll forget about it, continue as if nothing happened. But that’s impossible. Words aren’t actions, but they cut deep nonetheless. They leave scars. </p><p>“I don’t know.” Robb bites his lip, his gaze pleading. “I think – the way you were talking of Theon before I realized – and the way he talked about you…” He swallows dryly. “I didn’t like it.”</p><p>“What, the thought we could all get along? The possibility of you maybe not being the hub of the world for once?” Theon rolls his eyes. </p><p>“No! Maybe… no. Or yes,” Robb says confusedly. “I don’t think I’m the hub of the world. But I guess I thought – I’m so sorry. I’d do anything to take back what I said. I’d do anything for you to forgive me, Jon.” </p><p>“And what about my forgiveness?” Theon seems a little mellowed. “You broke my nose. I’m going to look hideous!” </p><p>“No, you won’t,” Jon says immediately. “You’ll look even more like a dashing Ironborn reaver.”</p><p>“How reassuring of you.” </p><p>Theon grins, slinging his arm around Jon’s shoulder and kissing his cheek. It feels awkward, to do so in front of Robb, provocative and strange, but Jon lets it happen, eyes trained on his brother, daring him to say a word. Robb doesn’t, he just stands there looking at them until Jon finally sighs. </p><p>“Apology accepted,” he says slowly. “I love you, Robb. I’ll try to remember that instead of what else you said.” </p><p>Robb nods, turning to Theon. </p><p>“You’ll have to wait for my forgiveness until my nose looks normal again,” Theon says lightly. “But it can’t hurt to grovel a bit in the meantime, aye?”</p><p>Robb almost smiles at that. He turns to go, hesitates. “This is real, isn’t it?” he asks, facing Theon. “Not just for fun.” </p><p>“Not just for fun,” Theon confirms. “You better go now, see why my bath is taking so long.”</p><p>“Understood.” Robb gives Jon a last, pleading look. “I’m really sorry, Jon. I love you.” </p><p><em> I know, </em>Jon wants to say, but then he just nods. It’ll take little effort to forgive Robb – but forgetting is impossible. It’s going to take a while. </p><p>“Are you alright?” Theon asks when they’re alone. “You’re white as snow, Snow.”</p><p>Thankfully, the ordered bath arrives just then, sparing Jon the need to answer to such nonsense. He waits for the maids to leave before he rigs up his sleeves and holds out his hand. Theon, devoid of any decency whatsoever, had already undressed while the maids were still pouring the water, and now he takes the offered hand and lets Jon help him settle in the water. </p><p>“Aah, that’s better,” he drawls. “Do you maybe want to scrub my back?” </p><p>“No,” Jon says. “I want you to take your injured foot out of the hot water, unless you want it to swell any further?” </p><p>“Well, no.” Theon obediently sticks out his foot, watching Jon as he drapes a cloth filled with the ice one of the girls brought around it. “My nose feels hot and twice its size, that’s enough swelling for today.” </p><p>“Honestly, it’s not so bad.” Jon kneels down next to the tub, carefully swiping his thumb under Theon’s eye. “There’s a bruise forming, but no more than a little swelling. Does it hurt much?” </p><p>“A little. Nothing I can’t bear.” </p><p>“If you want I can get you some milk of the poppy,” Jon offers, taking a piece of cloth and wetting in the bath. “I’m going to clean that, aye?” </p><p>Upon Theon’s nod Jon gets to work, scrubbing away the last pinkish traces from Theon’s chin before moving on to his nose. There’s still some dried blood caked around the nostrils, and although Jon tries his best to be gentle, Theon flinches every other moment. Finally his face is clean, and Jon straightens – and does a double take at Theon’s head. </p><p>“Did you touch your hair after your nosebleed?” he asks. </p><p>“Maybe. Why? Oh drowned <em> shit!</em>” Theon groans. “I must look like I’ve been attacked by a bear!” </p><p>“A little,” Jon says, mouth twitching. He quickly undoes the braids, pulling the string from Theon’s hair so that it falls open. “Where do you keep your soap?” </p><p>“Little chest over there.” Theon jerks his head in the direction. “The one smelling like sandalwood.”</p><p>Jon walks over, sniffing a few of the many bars until he finds one that smells like Theon’s hair. </p><p>“This must’ve been horribly expensive,” he says when he returns, pushing at Theon’s back to make him bend forward. “I could never figure out what your hair smells like. It’s nice.” </p><p>“It comes from a tree that grows on the Summer Islands,” Theon explains, spluttering when Jon pours water over his head. “It <em> is </em> expensive, but worth it. You can use it if you like.” </p><p>“I… well. I have my own mixture,” Jon says, slightly embarrassed, lathering his hands up with the soap and distributing the suds over Theon’s head. “I don’t – I like my hair.” </p><p>“No joke,” Theon says with a laugh. “I like it well enough myself.” </p><p>He leans back against the edge of the tub, eyes closing as Jon works the soap into Theon’s hair, massaging his scalp with his fingertips. Theon hums, then groans, until he’s outright moaning under Jon’s ministrations, making heat curl in his stomach. </p><p>“Drowned God, you’re good at that,” Theon sighs. “Tell you what, I’ll never bathe without you again.”</p><p>“Hm.” Jon coaxes Theon to sit up again, carefully rinsing his hair until all the soap is gone, carding the wet strands back from his face. Theon looks so good like that, even with the dark bruises beneath his eyes. Jon shifts uncomfortably. He’s feeling hot, his prick starting to – so much for enough swelling. “You wouldn’t possibly be up for… you know?” </p><p>“Oh?” Theon tilts his head, grinning at Jon from upside down. “I wouldn’t say no to a little tumble. Shall I come out?” </p><p>“No.” </p><p>Jon moves to the side of the tub, pulling Theon into a kiss while his free hand wanders over his chest, grazing a stiffening nipple. His fingers move lower, nails dragging over Theon’s stomach and making his muscles jump, and finally Jon wraps his hand around Theon’s hardening prick, squeezing gently. Theon gasps against Jon’s mouth, leaning into his touch. It’s been a while, a few days since they have done anything like this, and suddenly Jon can’t wait anymore. He gets to his feet, unlaces his breeches, slips out of them and his tunic. Theon watches him with a hungry look as Jon climbs into the tub and settles over Theon’s lap.</p><p>“Drowned fuck, will you look at yourself,” Theon whispers, and then his eyes widen when Jon reaches behind himself. Jon’s mouth falls open in a silent gasp as he pushes a finger inside himself, two, fucking himself harshly. “Good God, Jon…” </p><p>Theon sits up with a jolt, his mouth crashing on Jon’s, his tongue pushing inside just as Jon lowers himself onto his prick. It’s not enough preparation, burning and stinging at first, but Jon cannot wait for another second. He rocks down hard, moaning into Theon’s mouth as he clings to his shoulders. The water adds a new twist to the movements, everything feels so good, even the pain from the stretch, and Jon quickens his pace, comes down hard at Theon. His prick is wedged in between them and it’s too much, too perfect…</p><p>“You’re so beautiful,” Theon gasps between kisses, crying out when Jon clenches around him. “So good–”</p><p>Fuck them, Jon thinks vaguely as heat builds inside him, rising in his belly and his chest, fuck everyone who thinks he shouldn’t have this. He’s not a whore for wanting it, for enjoying it, for loving Theon and everything he does to him. The water splashes from the tub as Jon rocks his hips but he doesn’t notice, lost in the pleasure building in him, deaf to anything but the praise coming from Theon’s lips, the moans, the stifled cry when he tenses against Jon, the way his prick pulses in Jon, sending him over the edge, sparks exploding before his eyes, his heart so, so full. </p><p>The water is starting to feel cool when Jon finally finds the strength to move. He gives himself a quick wash while he’s still in the tub before he clambers out, taking one of the sheets laid aside to huddle into. </p><p>“Fuck,” Theon says emphatically, hefting himself to his feet, hissing when he puts weight on the left one. “Everytime I think it can’t get any better you have to prove me wrong.” </p><p>“I’m – sorry?” Jon holds out his arm to help Theon out of the tub, giving him another sheet. “I sincerely apologize.” </p><p>“You’re getting more insolent by the day,” Theon mutters, eyes sparkling. “I’m going to have to punish you for misbehaving.” </p><p>“Wrong way round, Greyjoy.” Jon gives him a smug smile. “If anything, I’ll be the one punishing <em> you </em> when you misbehave again. Which is only a matter of time.” </p><p>“You think so,” Theon says, hobbling over until he’s looming over Jon. “I dare say you ought to do it in hindsight. I’ve been a terrible brat to you.” </p><p>“You want me to punish you for thirteen years of misbehaving? That’s going to take a while.” </p><p>“Better get started then,” Theon mumbles, bending his head to place a suggestive kiss behind Jon’s ear. “Otherwise you’ll never catch up until I’m a very naughty charge yet again.” </p><p>Jon shivers, the thought going straight to his prick. He wonders what exactly it is Theon thinks of as punishment. Maybe even – a knock on the door has them start, and Jon wraps his sheet tighter around himself as Theon sighs and yells at the person outside to come in. </p><p>It’s Robb again, and Jon already wants to snap at him for disturbing them after everything that happened, when he sees the look on Robb’s face, the pale cheeks, his anxious gaze. He doesn’t seem to notice the half-naked, damp state they’re in, his eyes fixed on Theon. </p><p>“There’s been – Father had a raven. He wants to speak to you. It’s–” Robb takes a deep breath, his voice is shaky. “The Lannisters have crushed the rebellion. I’m so sorry, Theon. Your father – he's been executed.” </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hah. Well. That's...unfortunate?</p><p>@Buena I do hope you enjoyed the bath scene. It wouldn't exist if it weren't for you :)  Sorry for not having Jon be the bathing boy, but omg I really wanted a non-threatening bath for my lad Theon here ^^'</p><p>@everyone, any thoughts? Questions? Thank you once more for your support and love, I so appreciate all of you ❤️❤️</p>
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<a name="section0037"><h2>37. Chapter 37</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey @all, </p><p>I sincerely apologize for harrassing you with a chapter in the middle of the week - but I had a flash of inspiration and added a chapter in between and I really want my last-chapter-posting-day to remain the same ^^'</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Oh,” Theon says, and then, “well, guess he had it coming.” </p><p>His face has paled, but apart from that he seems astonishingly calm. Jon doesn’t feel calm at all; Robb’s words are still reeling in his head. Balon Greyjoy is dead. Theon’s father – dead. It’s a disconcerting word, so final, so dark. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” Jon says, laying his hand on Theon’s. </p><p>“I’m – thank you, Snow.” Theon shrugs. “Better get dressed then, if Lord Stark wants to see me.” </p><p>Robb comes in, closing the door behind him. Quietly, he goes through Theon’s clothes until he’s gathered everything Theon needs, holding out one item after the other while Theon dresses with Jon’s help. When that is done Jon puts on his own clothes, and one of Theon’s tunics. His own is bloody from before. </p><p>“You’ll – you’re coming with me?” Theon asks Jon once they’re done. His mouth is a tight line. “It’s just – my foot still hurts when I step on it and I can’t – come with me?” </p><p>“Of course,” Jon says immediately, slinging his arms around Theon’s waist. </p><p>Together they make their way to Father’s solar, with Robb walking at Theon’s other side. In front of Father’s door he hesitates. </p><p>“I’ll leave you to it. I won’t be far if – if you need something,” he says, brows pulled into a worried frown. “I mean–”</p><p>“Thank you,” Theon says, giving Robb a weak grin. “Can’t be so bad, can it? It’s not a crime to die, even for a traitor.” </p><p>And with that he raises his hand, determinedly knocking on the door. Upon Father’s call Jon pushes the door open, helping Theon inside. Father rises behind his desk, his eyes flitting over Theon’s bruised face, to Jon’s arm around Theon’s waist, over both their damp hair. He looks curious, but doesn’t mention any of it. </p><p>“Thank you for coming, Theon,” he says somberly. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of such dreadful news.”</p><p>“Not too dreadful, my lord.” Theon shrugs. “My father has forsaken any claim on my filial duty the moment he named himself king and condemned me to death.” </p><p>“I understand.” Father gives Jon a short look before he continues. “I wanted to speak to you in private first–” </p><p>“Jon is my guardian,” Theon interrupts firmly. “He’s entitled to know everything that concerns me.”</p><p>“Aye, I guess he is.” </p><p>If it weren’t such a horrible situation, Jon would smile at Father’s confused expression. He certainly hasn’t expected this kind of reaction from Theon. </p><p>“What happened then, my lord?” Theon asks, voice dispassionate. </p><p>“Your family fought hard, but in the end Jaime Lannister had the upper hand. Your uncle Victarion was killed in battle. He was buried at sea. Your father–” Lord Stark pauses for a moment. “He was executed on site. His body was taken to King’s Landing. Your uncle Euron was captured, but managed to escape. Your sister is currently held in the cells of the Red Keep.” </p><p>“Asha?” For the first time since hearing the news Theon’s face shows something like an emotion. “Is she – will they kill her too?” </p><p>“I don’t think so.” Father takes a deep breath. “There won’t be any need if – the king sends you this.” </p><p>He takes something from his desk, walking around it and holding it out to Theon. It’s a ring, crudely forged from iron, strange symbols carved into it. Theon looks down at it, making no move to take it. </p><p>“That was my father’s,” he finally says. “Only the Lord of Pyke can wear it.” </p><p>“Aye,” Father says. “And now it’s yours.” </p><p>“But I’m not – this isn’t–” Theon looks up at Father, confusion plain on his face. “I don’t understand, my lord.” </p><p>“It’s the king’s offer. His command.” Father almost smiles. “You are Lord of Pyke now, Theon.” </p><p>Theon still doesn’t move, rigid as a statue as he stares at Father. He’s in shock, Jon thinks vaguely. He feels shocked himself. Theon – Lord of Pyke? </p><p>“Come now, Theon. King Robert is being very gracious.” </p><p>Father starts to look slightly impatient when Theon fails to answer, or take the ring. It makes no sense to Jon, none of it. </p><p>“The king wanted Theon executed when Balon Greyjoy rebelled, and now he wants him to rule?” Jon’s voice is trembling when he speaks. “Father, that’s not – why would he–” </p><p>“The pledge,” Theon says tonelessly. “It’s because of the pledge. I swore to put your matters above mine, your house’s matters above my house’s matters. You are in charge of me, Jon. And with installing me as Lord of Pyke…”</p><p>“But I’m no one!” Jon shouts, horror-stricken. “I’m a bastard, I’m not even a Stark!” He turns to Father, looking at him pleadingly. “Father, please, the king can’t think–”</p><p>“Theon is right,” Father says wearily. “The way Robert sees it… Theon controls Pyke. You control Theon...” He sighs. “And I control you. House Stark will rule over the Iron Islands, in everything but name.”</p><p>“I’m not a Stark,” Jon repeats stubbornly. </p><p>“You are.” Father gives Jon a look that makes his chest tighten. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a scroll with the seal of the king. It’s broken. “This letter contains your legitimization. You are, from now until your last day, Jon of House Stark.” </p><p>There’s a strange sound ringing in Jon’s ears, drowning out his thoughts. He can’t think. He can’t – it can’t be true. It <em> can’t </em>! The sound doesn’t stop, growing louder, and finally Jon recognizes where it’s coming from. He turns his head. Theon is laughing, hysterically, laughing as if he’s never heard a funnier thing in his whole life. </p><p>“You should take time to think things over, both of you.” Father sighs, his hand twitching as if he wants to reach out. Finally he pushes the ring into Theon’s hand. “Just remember – the king doesn’t ask. He commands. A refusal could have – there’ll be consequences.”</p><p>Theon is still chuckling when Jon helps him out of the solar and down the corridor. Robb is waiting for them at the stairs, grabbing Theon’s free arm as they go down. In the yard Theon takes a deep breath, a huge smile still plastered on his face. </p><p>“What a fucking joke,” he says, shaking his head. “What a <em> fucking </em> – I guess I should congratulate you.” He turns to Jon, still with that eerie smile. “Your dream come true. Turns out I didn’t take them all away… this one actually happens <em> because </em> of me.” He laughs again. “Very clever of the king, very clever.” </p><p>“What happened?” Robb asks quietly. </p><p>“Oh, nothing much.” Theon opens his hand, revealing the ring he’s still clutching. “Jon just became Lord of Pyke, is all.” </p><p>“<em>What?” </em>Robb’s mouth falls open; his gaze wandering between them. “But – how?” </p><p>“Not now,” Theon says, his voice strange and alien. “I hate to be a bother, but could one of you please help me into my chamber? I need a moment – I want to be alone.” </p><p>Jon knows he shouldn’t ask. He still does. He has to. </p><p>“Will you come tonight?” </p><p>“No.” For a moment Theon’s face takes on a hard look, but then his gaze softens. “Tonight I need you to come to me.” </p><p>“I will,” Jon says, watching as Theon braces himself against Robb’s shoulder. Once they have gone from the yard Jon exhales a shuddery breath. He needs a moment too. </p><p>Robb finds him under the heart tree, not half an hour later. Jon doesn’t react when he sits down next to him, nor when he places a warm hand on Jon’s back. </p><p>“Is it alright if I sit here with you?” Robb asks. Jon just nods, not trusting his voice. “What Theon said before – what dream did he mean?” </p><p>“Being a Stark.” Jon shivers, hardly daring to say it out loud. “The king has legitimized me. I’m no longer Jon Snow.” </p><p>“But – but that’s wonderful!” Robb wraps an arm around Jon’s shoulders, squeezing gently. “I’m happy for you. Jon, what is wrong?” he asks when Jon doesn’t react. “Aren’t you happy? You always wanted it so much.” </p><p>“Not like this,” Jon says, swallowing against the lump in his throat. “Not as a means to control Theon, to take away what should have rightfully been his. The king thinks – he wants the Starks to control the Iron Islands. He made Theon – my charge, a <em> Stark’s </em>charge – he made him Lord of Pyke.”</p><p>“Gods,” Robb says slowly. “What a cunning, <em> despicable </em> – no wonder Theon looked as if he’s losing his mind.” </p><p>“I can’t do this to him, Robb.” Fighting back the tears, Jon looks at his brother. “We’ve come so far, I thought we’d finally left the pledge and everything it entails behind us, and now?” He bites his lip hard enough he tastes blood. “Now they’re even taking this away from him. They want <em> me </em> to take it away from him. I can’t. I fucking can’t! He’s – I love him.” </p><p>Shame curling in his guts, Jon lets Robb pull him close. He’s making soothing noises, stroking Jon’s back with rhythmic gestures. </p><p>“I’m sorry I was such a prick about that,” Robb finally says. “I should’ve trusted your judgment. I should’ve known you wouldn’t fall for anyone just because he’s – well – offering you cock.”</p><p>Jon chortles through his tears, sitting up and giving Robb a wry smile. “Was that really all of it? Why you behaved so atrociously?” </p><p>“Yes… no.” Robb sighs. “I beg you not to breathe a single word to him.” He waits for Jon to nod. “Yes, I hated the thought. You falling prey to someone like him. I know him – I thought I did – he’s never been serious about anything. The thought of you getting hurt was unbearable. I was angry at you for falling for him so easily. But that’s…” Robb gazes up at the red leaves above their heads, as if silently pleading someone for help. “That’s not all there is to it. The way he talked about you… I didn’t like it. And when he took your hand, the way he looked at you – I couldn’t help but think – could it have been me?” </p><p>It’s hard to breathe all of a sudden. Jon doesn’t say a word, waiting for Robb to go on.</p><p>“If I’d been here, if I had somehow managed to save him – I didn’t – if I’d just thought about it before, considered the possibility of us being – could it have been me? Would he look at me like he looks at you now?” Robb shrugs. “It doesn’t matter.”</p><p>Jon’s heart is beating too fast, his mouth is dry. This is it, what he’d feared so much. There had been feelings on both sides. Maybe there still are. He closes his eyes, tries to catch a clear thought. He should tell Robb, should tell him what Theon had said. But Theon had asked him to keep it to himself. It would betray his trust. And it would be the end of all things. It would be for Jon. Still, what if it would make Theon happy, happier than he is now, considering the news?</p><p>“Maybe,” Jon says tonelessly, “maybe there’s still a chance. If you talked to him–”</p><p>“What?” Robb’s brows gather in confusion. “Jon, what are you talking about? How can you say such a stupid thing? I thought you’re in love?” </p><p>“I am.” Jon shrugs. “I know he needs me now, but… he never said the words. I don’t think he ever will.”</p><p>“Do you need the words?” Robb takes Jon’s hand, squeezing it. “I haven’t been around you two long, but I think – I wouldn’t have been such a jealous idiot if it hadn’t been clear as day. The way he feels about you.” </p><p>“I don’t know–” Jon starts, but Robb gives him such a stern glare he shuts his mouth again. </p><p>“You’re not going to ruin this, Jon. He may not have said it, but I’m certain Theon loves you. And while there might be some regret about missed chances, I’d never take anything away from you. Not that I’d succeeded if I tried. It’s very obvious who his heart belongs to.”</p><p>“You’re – thanks.” Jon smiles weakly. “Let’s see if what you say holds true through this. If I were him I’d be furious.” </p><p>“No, you’d selflessly sacrifice everything for your love,” Robb comments dryly. “Give up on your dream to be with him.” </p><p>“Aye,” Jon says sadly. “But I can’t ask that of him.” </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Next three (3!) chapters are Theon POV!<br/>Thoughts? Questions? :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0038"><h2>38. Chapter 38</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello again! Are you sick of me yet? XD</p><p>The next 3 chapters are (a very confused) Theon POV, featuring hard decisions, Jon trying his hardest, as always, and a lot of opportunities for Theon to fess up to his feels. Let's see if he makes it at any point.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He manages to keep his mouth firmly shut until the door closes behind Robb. For a long moment Theon just stares at it, unseeing. He waits for the dams to break,  waits to lose it completely. He waits for an eternity, hours. Nothing happens, the big rage won’t come. He tries to scream, feeling stupid when nothing happens. He punches the wall, just to see if that’ll trigger any emotion, but still nothing. He just feels numb. Finally Theon collapses on the bed, staring at the ceiling. His eyes are bone dry, his thoughts going haywire. </p><p>He tries to think of his father, finding it surprisingly hard. He doesn’t remember his face. There’s no sadness, no regret. Balon Greyjoy is dead. It doesn’t bother Theon, not after what Balon had done to him. It’s no different from Victarion’s death – Theon just doesn’t care, not about them, not about madman Euron on the run. The only disconcerting thought is that of Asha, locked away in some dungeons. Theon doesn’t remember her well, only vague glimpses of her fighting Maron and Rodrik. She’d been fierce. More than himself, maybe. He hopes she’ll be alright until – until what? </p><p>Until he accepts the king’s fucking offer – fucking <em> command </em> – and goes to be Lord of Pyke. What a joke… but somehow Theon doesn’t feel like laughing anymore. It’d be Jon, who’d truly wear the crown, if not on his head. A stupid thought. Neither of them would wear a crown, the islands are not a kingdom. Not anymore. They’ll never be again, with a Stark ruling them. <em> Jon </em> Stark<em>. </em>Theon almost smiles at the thought. Poor Jon… he’d always wanted it, had thought this, too, had become impossible with the pledge – and now that it has happened, everything is all wrong. Suddenly Theon wishes Jon were here, wishes he weren’t alone, only for a moment. All of this – it’s hard on both of them. </p><p>The thought vanishes again, and Theon sighs. Jon doesn’t have a life-altering decision before him. He doesn’t have to decide between going back to a home that isn’t a home anymore, hasn’t been for many years; and staying in Winterfell, surrounded by Starks for the rest of his life. Theon laughs quietly to himself. There is no real decision. It’s a fucking order, by the fucking king himself. He tries to imagine it, going back, with Jon by his side – a ridiculous thought. The Ironborn would never tolerate a deviant for their lord. They’d need to be just what they were, charge and guardian. Another ridiculous thought. They wouldn’t accept a Stark calling the shots either.</p><p>And why should they? No Stark should ever rule over the islands, no Ironborn should ever have to kneel to some Greenlander lord – Theon shakes his head, sharply telling himself to stop being stupid. This is exactly the attitude that nearly cost Theon’s head, and finally Balon’s. And still… it’s an appalling vision, nothing but a puppet for Ned Stark and the bloody king… This, being Lord of Pyke… it’s everything Theon dreamed of since having been dragged north, everything he talked about, everything he wanted. </p><p>
  <em> One day I’ll be Lord Reaper of Pyke. I’m Balon Greyjoy’s last son and heir, and I’m going to follow my father and rule over the Iron Islands. You’ll see, one day I’m going to be lord of Pyke. </em>
</p><p>And now? He’ll carry the title, aye, but it won’t be him leading the Ironborn. It’d be Ned Stark, through Jon. The thought is so ridiculous Theon snorts. Jon fucking <em> Stark</em>, honourable to the point of being insufferable, master over a people of reaving, plundering pirates. He’ll hate it, hate the rough islands, the damp castles, their way of life. They’d rip him apart, limb from limb. No, Jon wouldn’t do well there. He’d better stay where he is. </p><p>The anger comes suddenly, violently, crashing over Theon like a tidal wave. He shouldn’t have to do this, shouldn’t have to face a decision between taking what should be rightfully his, and facing a life without Jon. It’s all-consuming, white-hot and scalding, raging through Theon until he’s barely able to breathe. If only he hadn’t ever made that stupid move, hadn’t started something he should’ve known isn’t for him, couldn’t be, not forever. They should’ve stayed like they pledged to be, nothing more. If it weren’t for this thing between them the decision would be so easy. Fuck off, finally leave this place and go home. Where he belongs. </p><p>He’s ironborn, his blood is salt and iron, the sea is in him, calling for him. If it weren’t for Jon, if he had never even dared to do something stupid like falling in love with Theon… And yet. Theon grits his teeth, tries harder – he can’t. He can’t ignore the way his heart clenches painfully at the thought of leaving Jon, never again seeing his long, serious face, never again seeing it light up with that beautiful smile that takes Theon’s breath away… With a frustrated groan Theon sits up, burying his face in his hands. It’s not fair. It’s just – not – fair!! </p><p>The thought emerges suddenly, crystal-clear, from the tangled mess Theon’s mind is in. Jon needs to stay in Winterfell. There’s no way this – whatever they are – could have lasted anyway. At least like this it’ll be a clean cut, a fresh start. Theon grits his teeth, willing down the panic threatening to rise in him with all his might. He can conquer this, he can. He will. There was a time before Jon, there always was going to be one without him again some day. Why not now? It can be done. It’s Jon after all. He’d never even think of imposing, of showing he’s got the upper hand. He wouldn’t stand in Theon’s way, wouldn’t undermine his authority of the islands. </p><p>“Can I come in?”</p><p>Theon looks up so fast he feels dizzy, gaze falling on Jon. He’s standing in the open door, shoulders sagging. He looks like the picture of misery, and the anger rises again in Theon’s throat. It’s not Jon’s life that is being turned upside down once again. It’s not his place to look so sorrowful. Slowly Theon gets to his feet, determined to tell Jon what he decided upon. He’ll go – and Jon has to stay. </p><p>“I’m so sorry,” Jon says simply. His eyes are sad, his mouth pulled into a pitiful frown. “I’m so sorry, Theon.”</p><p>It’s fucking impossible. Theon takes a step, another, stumbling when his foot gives out under his weight and Jon is <em> there</em>, just like he always is, always was. His arms wrapping around Theon feel like a haven, safe and comforting, and for the first time today, since he’s heard the news, Theon buries his face in Jon’s hair and lets the pain take over. </p><p>“Theon…” Jon sounds choked, aching. “I would never have wanted to do this to you, take away something that should have been yours.” </p><p>He keeps stroking Theon’s hair, keeps apologizing until Theon can’t bear it anymore. </p><p>“We’ll find a way,” he mutters. “There’s got to be a way. We’ll say you’re there to ensure the Greyjoys won’t rebel again; it’ll make sense to them, so shortly after everything.” </p><p>“Theon–”</p><p>“It’s not going to be easy, I know,” Theon continues hastily. We’ll have to be very careful there, elska. They can’t – no one there can know about this.” </p><p>“Gods, Theon…” Jon’s voice is sad and small against Theon’s cheek. “When you go to Pyke, I won’t be able to come with you.” </p><p>It’s a shock, hearing those words from Jon, despite having thought them himself just minutes ago. Theon moves back, stares at him, at his anguished face, unable to comprehend. He takes a step away, swaying before Jon catches him, gently pushing him toward the bed where Theon slumps down heavily. </p><p>“You’re a fool if you think I’m ever going to set foot on those islands,” Jon says roughly. “When I took the pledge I started to read everything about your people I could find, asked everyone to tell me what they know. You’ll need – the Ironborn won’t accept you if there is as much as a hint of me around you.” </p><p>“They’ll have to. I’m their lord, their leader. They’ll have to do what I say…” Theon shakes his head, still doesn’t understand. </p><p>“They’re not like that from what I heard.” Jon sits down beside Theon, staring down at his hands. “You’ll have a hard time as it is, getting accepted. You’ll have to prove you’re one of them, untainted by your years as a Stark ward.”</p><p>“But I’m a Greyjoy!” Theon nearly shouts it, feeling utterly bewildered. “I’m Balon Greyjoy’s last son and heir, I would always have gone back someday if Father hadn’t – it’s my right!” </p><p>“Your name won’t mean anything,” Jon says sadly. “Only your actions will. If you’d arrive at Pyke with a northern former bastard in tow… they’d mistrust you from the start.”</p><p>“I’d explain,” Theon insists. “It’d make sense having you there after–”</p><p>“Aye, it’d make sense. But that wouldn’t stop them from spurning you for allowing it.” Jon sighs, turning to take Theon’s hand. “And then this… I don’t think I could bear being around you and not – we couldn’t – you’d have to treat me like the last scum to make it believable. I can’t live like that anymore.”</p><p>“You’d rather live without me?” You’d rather I just fuck off and never see you again? You once said – at Castle Black–” Theon flinches at how bitter he sounds, can’t help it. “You said you’d follow me everywhere. You said you’d come with me wherever I go.”</p><p>He swallows against the sudden lump in his throat, rubs his stinging eyes. The thought is unbearable. </p><p>“I didn’t know Pyke would be an option. And besides, it won’t be forever,” Jon says, attempting a smile, and failing. “You’d be able to go away for a short time once you’ve established your rule. We could meet at Cape Kraken, spend a few days together… stay at an inn close to the sea. You could teach me how to swim. It’ll be – it’ll be nice. Something to look forward to.” </p><p>“And the rest of the time? All the long days and nights without you?” </p><p>“You’ll get by,” Jon says sadly. “You’ll have a kingdom to rule. Not as a king, maybe, but–” </p><p>“You’d be ruling them,” Theon interrupts harshly. “It’ll be your decisions, your will.”  </p><p>“Do you really think I’d do that? I mean, sure, I fear I’m going to have to put my foot down about the reaving and raping…” Jon smiles weakly. I would never interfere, Theon. I’d never take your authority away from you.” </p><p>“In the eyes of the world I have to answer to you.” </p><p>“We’ll keep up the pretense. You’ll write to me when you have a big decision to make, like when you marry a suitable Ironborn girl to give you heirs…” Jon breaks off, turns his face away. “And I’m going to write back, give you any permission you require. That’ll be enough.” </p><p>His voice is shaking, his shoulders starting to tremble, and for a moment Theon just watches him, how he tries so hard, and suddenly his heart seems to be too big in his chest, he hears himself saying things he’d never thought possible. </p><p>“I’m not going. Jon, look at me.” Theon takes his face in both hands, forcing him to look. He says it again. “I’m not going. If you don’t come with me, I’m <em> not </em> going.” </p><p>“But the king–” </p><p>“Fuck the king,” Theon says emphatically. “Fuck everyone. I’m not going without you.” </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I did imagine Jon going to Pyke with Theon, as a lord's consort. They'd not make it a week before Theon gets overthrown in a revolt/mutiny. I guess it would be possible once he's established himself, has earned the Ironborn's respect. And even then Jon would have a horrible life there I think. </p><p>What do you think?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0039"><h2>39. Chapter 39</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey, guys! Hope you had a good weekend. </p><p>Soooo, here's the second of three Theon POVs in a row - I have no idea why he decided to take over completely.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>That night the terrors come back. They had stopped a long time ago, hadn’t even returned when Ned Stark had him detained and prepared for execution. Those days he hadn’t slept enough to dream. But this night the dreams come back. They’re not the same ones he used to have as a kid, not ones of harsh hands holding him down, of fire raining down on ships, of his mother’s anguished cries. They’re not the dreams he had as a teenager, the ones were he kneeled with black steel at his neck, grey, cool eyes boring into his for the last time as his warden lifts the sword. No, this dream is new – but it has the same feeling to it, the same creeping dread, the same helpless panic. </p><p>He’s running. There are trees around him, but he doesn’t recognize them. Behind him he can hear their howls, can almost smell them, can feel their thirst for his blood. From the darkness around him eyes are watching, red-glowing between the trees, hungry, waiting for him to stumble. He runs as fast as he can, his breath coming in short, painful bursts, his feet aching, tears streaming down his face. And then suddenly the trees clear before him, an opening, a path out of the woods, away from the pack chasing him. Something glitters in the distance and he wants to sob when he recognizes the sea. </p><p>It’s the sea of his childhood, grey and churning, never calm, calling his name, and he runs faster, but somehow it doesn’t come closer. He can already smell the brine, feel the strong winds in his hair, can hear the waves – and yet the harder he tries the further it slips away. The growling behind him gets louder, he can feel their breath in his neck and suddenly there’s a figure in front of him, blocking his way. It’s dressed in black and gold, and where the head should be there’s nothing but a bloody mess, a severed neck. </p><p><em>Disgrace, </em>the horrible figure says in his father’s voice, <em>the wolves’ bitch</em> <em>is all you are. You’re no longer my son. </em></p><p>They catch up with him and he can’t get away, trees blocking him to the left and the right, Father’s butchered corpse between him and the unreachable sea, and finally he turns around, no choice but to face them. Their leader is a huge, dark shadow, baring his fangs as he snarls – but his eyes are human, familiar, the same eyes that haunted his dreams for so long, cool and somber. They’re all there, advancing on him, ready to rip him apart, and he screams when the first leaps, when they bury him in a mountain of fur, suffocating him, their teeth tearing at him and he cries for help, for anyone, for his father to come and save him, but nobody ever comes. </p><p>“Theon! <em> Theon!”  </em></p><p>His own screams are still ringing in Theon’s ears when he jolts awake, blindly staring into the darkness, disoriented, his heart beating so fast it hurts. He’s shivering, drenched in sweat. Something touches his shoulder, cautious, warm. </p><p>“You’re alright, Theon. You had a nightmare. It’s over.” </p><p>He’s drawn into the familiar embrace, buries his face in Jon’s neck, his breath still coming too fast. The words are there before he’s formed them in his mind, spilling out, impossible to hold back. </p><p>“I want to go home,” Theon whimpers, “Jon, please, I want to go home!” </p><p>“I know,” Jon murmurs, his cheek pressed against Theon’s hair. </p><p>He tightens his hold, just for a moment, before he lets go. It feels like a concession, as if he wants to say, I won’t hold you back. It only doubles the pain, only makes Theon hold on tighter, and yet he can’t stop repeating those damn words that are the end of them. Home. He needs to go home, can’t stay in Winterfell surrounded by wolves for the rest of his life. Not even for Jon. </p><p>Jon falls asleep at some point. Theon’s eyes are wide open, and finally he can’t bear it anymore, He needs fresh air, needs a place to be alone with his thoughts. The night is still dark, no sign of the dawn on the horizon when he slips out into the quiet courtyard, only the moon bathing Winterfell in a pale light. His feet lead him on their own accord, to the only place that feels like peace, even if his god isn’t there. It’s a ridiculous thought. Theon’s not sure he believes in any god at all, not anymore. Maybe he never has. If there’s a Drowned God, he never listened to Theon’s prayers. Maybe the Old Gods will. </p><p>When he sees him Theon isn’t surprised, not really. Robb is a lot more Stark than Tully, despite having his mother’s looks. He firmly believes in the Old Gods, always sought solace in front of the heart tree when something was troubling him, always sneaking into the godswood in the middle of the night. He’s sitting in front of the heart tree just like he always did, cross-legged, a torch planted into the ground beside him. </p><p>“Can’t sleep?” Theon asks as casually as he can. </p><p>For a moment Robb doesn’t answer, eyes trained on the face in the bark. Finally he’s finished his silent prayer, turning his head to look at Theon with a crooked smile. </p><p>“Neither can you it seems.” </p><p>He pats the ground and Theon lowers himself until he sits next to Robb, facing the tree. Neither of them says a word for a long time. It’s comfortable, always has been. Robb is one of the very few people with whom Theon doesn’t feel the need to constantly chatter away, fill every silence with meaningless words, the only others having been his mother, and Jon. </p><p>“I’m going home,” Theon finally says. “I thought I could stay, for him. I was wrong.” </p><p>“I know.” Robb shifts, hugging his knees. “I mean, that’s what I expected. You always wanted to go home.” He gives Theon a short side glance. “I think Jon knows too.” </p><p>“He knew before I did.” Theon smiles, shakes his head. “He won’t hold me back.” </p><p>“No. He loves you enough to let you go.” Robb takes a deep breath. “Tell me to mind my own business if that’s too intimate a question, but… you do love him?” </p><p>“Look, Robb…” Theon sighs. “It’s not that – he’s important, alright? He’s the most important person I ever had in my life. Leaving him will be the hardest thing I’ll ever do. But it’s not – I need to go home.” </p><p>“That didn’t answer my question,” Robb says softly. </p><p>“No, I guess it didn’t.” Theon takes a deep breath, exhales carefully. “I – he’s my – <em> fuck!”</em></p><p>“Thought so,” Robb smirks. “Anyway, it isn’t me you should tell, is it? You should tell <em> him. </em> Before you go and break his heart.”</p><p>“I know.” Theon bites the inside of his cheek. “I don’t know why it’s so hard. Maybe it’s better like this. Why make it even harder?” </p><p>“Harder for Jon – or for yourself?” </p><p>Theon doesn’t answer, and after a moment Robb sighs. </p><p>“I owe you an apology. I shouldn’t have thought the worst of you right away.” </p><p>“Can’t really blame you for that,” Theon says, grinning lopsidedly. “Thinking the worst of me in that regard is usually pretty spot on.” </p><p>“What’s different about Jon than all the others you had?” Robb tilts his head curiously. “Is it – is it because he’s a man?” </p><p>“It’s because he’s Jon.” Theon shrugs. “He’s  ridiculous. Someone like him loving me? It’s like a fucking dream. I did nothing to deserve it. And here I am, giving it all up for a place I haven’t seen in over ten years. Maybe that’s your answer. If I did, if I loved him enough, I wouldn’t leave.”</p><p>“Sometimes,” Robb says in a conversational tone, “I want to punch you so bad you’ll fucking fly back to your precious islands.”  </p><p>“You already tried that yesterday,” Theon remarks. “Sent me flying alright.” </p><p>“I know.” Robb looks rather sheepish, his cheeks reddening. “And I’m really, really sorry. My hand still hurts like hell if that’s any consolation.” </p><p>“Not really.” Theon gives Robb a quick glance. “What made you so angry? I had the feeling I hit a sore spot with what I said.” </p><p>“Kind of.” The colour in Robb’s face turns even darker at that. “I don’t want to talk about it.” </p><p>“Jon?” Theon guesses. “Not blaming you there, Stark. If he were <em> my </em>brother–” </p><p>“Not Jon.” </p><p>Robb’s voice sounds strained, he won’t look up, and finally Theon understands. </p><p>“Oh.” </p><p>He knows he should say something else, make a silly jape to ease the tension suddenly hanging between them, but nothing comes to mind. It’s baffling, bewildering. He can’t think about it, doesn’t <em> want </em> to think about it. It’s not as if it matters. If there ever was a chance, they have both missed it. Theon concentrates, tries to find a residue of the feelings he’d harboured some time ago. He can’t find any, nothing but the love for a brother, and a hint of regret. </p><p>“Look, Robb–”</p><p>“Don’t, seriously.” Robb shakes his head. “I shouldn’t even have mentioned it. Any chance you’ll forget we ever talked about this?”</p><p>“I could try.” Theon inhales carefully. “But I don’t think it’ll work. I mean–”</p><p>“It’s not like you think,” Robb mutters defiantly. “I wasn’t pining away or anything, I just couldn’t help wondering, if things had gone differently…” </p><p>“Aye, I know what you mean. Could have, would have… <em> would </em> have.” Theon emphasizes the <em> would</em>, hoping Robb will understand. It’s not a question. He would have. “Things have changed, I guess.” </p><p>“You can say that,” Robb mumbles. “You chose well. He deserves it.” </p><p>“Not much choosing, I assure you.” Theon smiles wryly. “I guess you never know when…<em>it… </em>hits you.” </p><p>“When love hits you, you mean,” Robb says firmly, rolling his eyes. “You <em> love </em> Jon. Stop pussyfooting around before I have to punch you in the face again.” </p><p>“Alright, alright!” Theon raises his hands. “You’re right! That’s what it is! But it doesn’t matter, because I have to go home.” </p><p>“It will matter to Jon. If I were in his shoes…” Robb swallows. “I’d want to hear it. I’d want the certainty that it hadn’t been just a passing fancy, that it had been real.”</p><p>He angrily wipes at his cheek, turning his face away. Fuck it, Theon decides, giving Robb’s arm a gentle punch before he draws him into an awkward, one-armed hug. </p><p>“I’ll miss you, Stark. Always.”</p><p>“You better.” For a moment Robb leans against Theon before he sighs theatrically, extracting himself from Theon’s embrace. “I should go to bed, see if I can get another couple hours sleep before dawn.” He gets to his feet, waiting for Theon to get up too. “Have you told Jon? That you’ll go?” </p><p>“He knows. I’ll talk to him again when he wakes up, but… aye, he knows. All I have left to do is tell your father and wait for the king’s instructions.” </p><p>
  <em> And find a way to tell Jon what he deserves to hear.  </em>
</p><p>Theon reaches into his pocket, pulling out Balon’s ring. He weighs it in his hand for just a moment before he slips it on, balling his hand into a fist. Theon Greyjoy, Lord of the Iron Islands. But somehow, the words don’t feel like they should. They only sound hollow, as if they belong to someone else. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So. He's made his decision. Do you think it's the right one?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0040"><h2>40. Chapter 40</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello on a particularly hot Friday! At least in Vienna it's gonna be hot, 35 degrees coming 😭 </p><p>Okay, so, without further preamble... WHO wants a broken heart? YOU get a broken heart, YOU get a broken heart, EVERYONE gets a broken heart!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Time has never passed so quickly in his life. The weeks fly past, not seeming to leave a single moment to catch his breath, and suddenly it’s the last evening before Theon’s departure. He’s to leave in the morning, ride to Seagard on the coast of the Riverlands where he’ll meet his sister, escorted there by members of the Kingsguard. Together they will sail for Pyke, for Theon to take his place as Lord of the Iron Islands. There’s a part of him that can’t wait to see his home again, the halls of the castles he grew up in. He’s nervous to meet Asha. </p><p>“Stop moping around, come here,” Jon says. </p><p>He’s smiling, that strange, detached smile that has been plastered onto his face ever since Theon had waited for him to wake up, ready to tell him. There hadn’t been any need to spell it out. Jon had known, had understood immediately. He’d accompanied Theon to Lord Stark as he’d accepted the king’s offer, hadn’t said a single word to try to get Theon to stay. A part of Theon is grateful, while another part resents Jon for not fighting it, for letting him go so easily. But most of the time he tries not to think of it, enjoy the time they have. </p><p>“You’ll be alright,” Jon says. He’s already in bed, watching Theon undress. “Just be yourself and all will go well. Your old self, I mean. The arrogant prick that never shut up about Ironborn this, Ironborn that.”</p><p>“I seem to remember you didn’t like him a lot,” Theon replies teasingly, climbing onto the bed and straddling Jon’s legs. “In fact, I’m quite sure you rather despised him.” </p><p>“I won’t be there to see him return,” Jon says, his face growing serious, the corners of his mouth drooping. </p><p>The reminder stings, a lot. This is their last night together, the last time they can be just themselves with each other. On the morrow Theon will leave, and Jon will stay behind. Theon swallows, trying to hold onto his own smile. No more falling asleep with Jon’s hair tickling his skin, no more stolen kisses during the day. No more seeing Jon’s beautiful smile, no more hearing him say the sweetest words in the world. They’ll keep in contact, will write each other, but some things cannot be brought to paper, lest the message falls into the wrong hands. </p><p>“Don’t,” Jon says, cupping Theon’s cheek in his palm. “No long faces tonight.” </p><p>“In that case you’ll have to leave the room.” </p><p>Jon’s long-suffering sigh is cut short as Theon closes the remaining distance, his kiss a little too forceful. He wishes there was a way to permanently hold on to Jon’s taste into his mouth, keep the sounds he makes trapped in his ears, the feeling of his lips etched into his skin. The pain comes suddenly, desperate and searing. This is their last night. The last time he’ll get to hold Jon like this – and yet this isn’t what Theon wants, what he needs. He needs to feel like this one last time, safe in Jon’s arms. He needs to have this, needs Jon to have him. Theon’s kiss turns pliant, searching, his body melting against Jon’s. </p><p>And Jon understands him so well. He takes control subtly, never breaking the kiss as he pulls Theon into his lap, hands firm but so gentle, always so gentle. Theon breaks away, studies Jon’s lovely face, his feelings painted all over it, so plain, so welcome. So much like his own. Theon opens his mouth, hesitates, but then… if he doesn’t say it tonight, he never will. There won’t be another chance. With a stifled, small noise Theon wraps his arms around Jon’s neck, clinging to him. The words are painfully stuck in his throat, scaring him, even now, when there’s nothing to be scared of anymore. </p><p>“Hold me,” he whispers in Jon’s ear, instead of what he really wants to say, like a fucking coward. “I need you.”</p><p>“I love you,” Jon answers, his eyes dark, and so sad. </p><p>Theon kisses him again, rocking against him until he can feel Jon harden beneath him. Jon moans into Theon’s mouth, his hands roaming over his back, to his hips, gripping him tight, and with one violent pull Jon flips them over so he’s on top, his weight pressing Theon into the furs. His knee slips between Theon’s thighs, levering them apart. </p><p>“I want to – I don’t think I can be gentle,” Jon whispers, his gaze unsure. </p><p>“Then don’t be.” Theon smiles, rubbing a thumb over the worried crease between Jon’s brows. “I can take a lot these days.”</p><p>Jon’s frown deepens. “I don’t want to hurt you.” </p><p>“You won’t.”</p><p>
  <em> No more than it’ll hurt to leave this behind.  </em>
</p><p>Jon keeps true to his word. He takes Theon hard, hands rough on him, his kisses bruising. He’s as quiet as ever, a wild look in his eyes, his breath washing hot and damp over Theon’s neck. Theon lets himself be rocked by the furious thrusts, holding on to Jon’s shoulders, his whole body on fire. It’s overwhelming, everything, the intensity of Jon moving in him, above him, consuming him with his heat, rising higher and higher. Jon starts to move faster, his hips stuttering, he opens his mouth in a silent cry, clutching Theon so hard he thinks his bones will break, and still it’s not enough. </p><p>“Theon,” Jon pants, “I can’t – please, Theon, <em> please!”  </em></p><p>“Go ahead – it’s alright, Jon, just–”</p><p>Theon closes his eyes, shudders running through him when Jon stiffens, his prick throbbing in him. Jon trembles, arms giving out until he collapses onto Theon’s chest, out of breath. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” he gasps, trying to get up. “Gods, I’m so, <em> so–” </em></p><p>“Shshsh,” Theon makes, holding him back. “I’m alright, elska. Just – don’t move.” </p><p>It’s so comfortable, to lie there like this, Jon softening in him, his weight trapping Theon to the bed, and for a wild moment Theon wishes they could just stay like this, and then he wouldn’t have to go, he couldn’t. Theon shifts, just a little, wrapping his hand around his half-hard prick. It’s peculiar, how he doesn’t mind at all that Jon has finished before him. He’s in no hurry to get there himself, doesn’t feel the need to. For now this is enough. </p><p>He doesn’t know when he’s fallen asleep, but when Theon opens his eyes the room is still dark. Jon is curled in on himself under the furs, not stirring when Theon gets up to light a candle. Its shine falls on Jon’s face, still wearing a sorrowful little frown. Theon smiles to himself, suppressing the urge to reach down and smooth the lines around Jon’s mouth. Instead he turns towards the window, peering outside. There’s a faint shimmer of light on the horizon. It’ll be dawn soon. Shuddering, Theon climbs back into bed, careful not to jostle the mattress too much and disturb Jon’s sleep. He lays down, head resting on his arm, eyes fixed on Jon. </p><p>He’s so beautiful. It’s inconceivable, that Theon could ever have thought differently. That he ever thought him something else but this wonderful, incredible creature. That there ever was a time when he didn’t love him. </p><p>“I do,” Theon whispers, and suddenly it really hits. It’ll be over. He’s going to lose him. In just a few hours everything will be said and done, and he won’t have Jon. He presses his hand to his mouth, desperately trying to trap the ridiculous sounds coming from his chest. His body is trembling with the strain to keep it in, hold himself together, and soon the whole bed is shaking underneath him. To Theon’s horror Jon starts to stir, his eyes fluttering open. For a moment his gaze is dazed, unfocused, but then his eyes widen when he looks at Theon’s wet face. </p><p>“Gods, Theon, what–”</p><p>There are no words, nothing Theon can say. Blindly, he reaches for Jon, unable to stop those wretched tears, feverishly showering him with kisses, shaking from the horrible sobs ripping through him. Jon’s hands are fluttering helplessly over Theon’s back, he mutters consoling nonsense, but there isn’t a single thing that could console Theon now. He drags Jon closer, wishes he could climb into his skin, melt with him, anything but lose him. Jon doesn’t flinch back when Theon parts his legs, when he pushes into him, when he buries his head on Jon’s shoulder, slicking his skin with more tears. It’s over in minutes, his release torn from him in the same moment that Jon cries out, spilling his seed between them. </p><p>The trembling slowly subsides, but the gut-wrenching pain doesn’t stop. Theon refuses to let go, refuses to look up. Jon’s hand is warm on his back, stroking him in a soothing rhythm. </p><p>“The bell for breakfast will ring soon,” Jon finally says hoarsely. “We ought to get ready.”</p><p>“I’m not hungry.” </p><p>“Neither am I. But you have a long way ahead of you, you have to eat something. Remember, you can’t eat on horseback. It makes you sick.” </p><p>Jon’s voice is teasing, and when Theon looks up he finds him smiling, despite his face being drawn and pale. He’s trying so hard to hold himself together, and somehow this makes it simultaneously better and worse.</p><p>“I’ll watch out for shadowcats,” Theon finally says, forcing himself to smile too. “I hear they are dangerous beasts.” </p><p>“Aye, they certainly are.” Jon chuckles softly, carding his fingers through Theon’s hair. “Do you want me to braid it for you?” Theon nods, biting his lip against another onslaught of emotion rising in his chest. “Good,” Jon adds. “It’ll fit well with your new cloak.” </p><p>“My what?”</p><p>Jon gently disentangles himself from Theon’s embrace, climbing out of bed. He opens the box he keeps his clothes in, slipping into a pair of braies before pulling out a large, folded bundle of fabric. </p><p>“I ordered it when we came back. I had no idea…” Jon sighs, placing the bundle before Theon on the bed. “Well, it’s for the best, isn’t it? You’ll look the part when you take your place as Lord of the Iron Islands.” </p><p>Theon sits up, carefully unfolding the cloth and shaking it open. For a moment he doesn’t understand, but then his breath catches when he recognizes it. It’s a cloak in the style of the Ironborn, a heavy, sleeveless wrap, suited for long days and nights on board of a ship. This one is new, not yet stained and bleached from the brine. Theon turns it in his hands, only then discovering the sigil embroidered on the back. He follows the lines of the kraken with his fingers, marvelling at the fine stitches. </p><p>“Look at the inside of the collar.” </p><p>Theon follows Jon’s suggestion, flipping the collar so he can see the inside of it. When he sees it, he looks up at Jon with a wry smile. </p><p>“Really, Jon?” </p><p>“A small reminder who you belong to.” Jon shrugs. “Of course I didn’t know I would be a Stark by now, or I would’ve commissioned a direwolf.” </p><p>“I like this better.” Theon looks down on the tiny snowflake, his eyes starting to sting again. “Thank you, Jon. I don’t – thank you.” </p><p>For a moment Jon doesn’t say anything, only looks at Theon with an indescribable expression. <em> Do it now, </em> a voice says in Theon’s mind. <em> Tell him before it’s too late. </em>Theon swallows, opens his mouth – a bell rings somewhere, startling them both. </p><p>“It’s time,” Jon finally says, looking away. “We won’t have – it’s time.” </p><p>The moment has passed, the tiny hint of bravery has vanished again. Theon gets to his feet, waits for Jon to look at him. For a second they just stare at each other, and suddenly Jon is in Theon’s arms, their lips meeting in a long kiss. </p><p>“I’ll keep in touch,” Theon promises, kissing Jon’s cheeks, his nose, his mouth again. “I’ll write as often as I can.” He pulls Jon hard against his chest, buries his face in his hair. “I’ll miss you so much, elska. So much.” </p><p>“Aye,” Jon says quietly. “I love you, Theon.” </p><p>Theon closes his eyes, breathing in Jon’s familiar scent. <em> And I you. </em></p><p>***</p><p>Theon lets his gaze sweep over the assembled Starks. He’s said his goodbyes to each of them in turn. Now their faces are showing a whole range of expressions. Robb’s is sympathetic, Arya’s furious. Sansa is crying. Theon looks at Ned Stark, at his grey, solemn eyes, boring into him with that intensity he always feared. Theon holds his gaze, refuses to look aside, and slowly the expression in those eyes changes, becomes wary. It doesn’t matter now, not anymore, and so Theon looks upon the most important face of all. Jon’s eyes are blank, his features drawn. He tries so hard not to give them away at the last moment, tries not to show what’s in his heart – Theon takes a step and reaches out. Jon comes immediately. </p><p>Theon smiles down at him as he slips off his father’s ring, takes Jon’s right hand in his, gently pushing it onto his ring finger. Jon’s hand twitches in Theon’s, and he closes his fingers around it.</p><p>“What are you doing?” Jon frowns at their joined hands. “Only the Lord of Pyke can wear it, you said.”</p><p>“He’s wearing it now.” Theon smiles. “Consider it a token of my own. Long overdue, I am aware. I thought – now you have something to remember me by.” </p><p>Jon’s answering smile is faint. “As if I needed anything for that.” </p><p>“It’ll turn the skin on your finger green,” Theon says apologetically. “But if you want it…”</p><p>“I want it. I won’t forget.” Jon sniffs, swallowing again and again. “And don’t you forget to ask my permission when you find yourself a rock wife. I’ll send you a wedding gift.”</p><p>“There’ll be no rock wife. An heir, someday, aye. His mother won’t matter to me.” Theon squeezes Jon’s hand until he looks up at him. “I have all the bonds I’ll ever need.” </p><p>They’re in full view of the whole of Winterfell, but somehow this, too, doesn’t matter anymore. It’s a selfish notion, Theon is aware. He might be going away, but Jon has to remain here, exposed to the servants’ whisperings, Lady Stark’s wrath. Still… he can’t stop himself now. Theon’s palm grazes Jon’s cheek, he wraps a stray curl around his fingers. </p><p>“Jon..?” </p><p>Jon smiles at Theon’s questioning tone, giving just the tiniest nod. It’s enough for Theon. His hand wraps around Jon’s neck, he pulls him close, leaning his forehead against Jon’s and closing his eyes. They’ve already said everything there is to say, but one thing is still missing, and suddenly it isn’t hard at all. He’s not scared anymore. </p><p>“Elska means love,” he whispers. “Farewell, <em> elska.” </em></p><p>Jon’s eyes widen, his lips part, and Theon bends down to seal them. Their last kiss is the sweetest yet, painful and devastating, perfect. A last touch, a last smile, and everything is over. When Theon rides out of Winterfell, eyes dry and burning, it’s with Jon’s taste in his mouth, Jon’s face before his eyes, leaving behind the most important part of himself. He doesn’t look back. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Ok so. If you feel up to it after all the pain (huh) please do tell me what you think, this chapter is one of my favourites, and the last scene was one of the first scenes I had written after planning out the fic.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0041"><h2>41. Chapter 41</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So, after all the heartbreak I now want to present the penultimate chapter. One more to conclude everything on Friday, plus a little surprise I'm very excited about :)</p><p>In one and a half hours (Monday the 13th) is my 34th birthday and I'm very happy I have the opportunity to spend it doing something I love: sharing my writing with you amazing guys. I want to take the opportunity to thank you all so much for all the love and support you've shown for this fic. I'm going to terribly miss it once it's done. </p><p>Meanwhile, here's Jon POV back!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The gates close, and slowly Jon turns around, facing the others with a defiant look. No one says a word, although Lady Stark looks as if she’s chewing on her own tongue. Jon doesn’t dare to look at Father, doesn’t want to see the disappointment in his eyes. He wants to see none of them, only Theon, and Theon is gone. Jon waits for the pain to hit, but nothing happens. He just feels numb, tired, cold. The air has a strange chill to it. Jon blinks, looking at the veiled sky. The weather is changing. </p><p>“Jon?” </p><p>He has trouble focusing on Arya, on her worried frown. She takes a step in his direction, immediately held back by her mother. Jon raises a hand, waves her off. </p><p>“I’m tired,” he mutters. “I beg you excuse me from my duties today, my lord.” </p><p>He doesn’t wait for an answer, just stumbles out of the yard. His legs feel heavy all of a sudden, his head as if it’s completely empty. Tired. He’s just so tired. All the time during the last weeks, ever since he’d woken up to Theon wearing his father’s ring, he’d been trying his hardest not to give in to the desperation, to not let Theon see his pain. Now he just feels empty, hollow. Back in his room Jon doesn’t even undress before he slips into bed, burying his face in a pillow smelling of sandalwood. </p><p>He sleeps through the whole day, only waking up long enough to drink a sip of water before he passes out again. The next time he wakes up it is light outside, and there’s a bowl of cold porridge on the table. Jon forces himself to eat half of it, barely awake enough to hold the spoon. He crawls into bed again, closing his eyes. Just a little more sleep, a little more time until he has to confront the truth, start over without him. He’s still so exhausted… Jon sleeps. He wakes up to use the privy, to eat a few bites of whatever food he finds in his room, then goes to sleep again. </p><p>A cluttering sound wakes him at some point, and then the bed dips at his side, a gentle hand pushing his hair from his face. Jon blinks, reluctantly yielding to consciousness. His gaze falls on Robb, sitting on his bed with a steaming cup smelling of hot mead in his hand. Jon grimaces at his brother’s anxious look, guilt seeping into the numbness. Robb looks tired too. </p><p>“‘lo,” Jon mutters, licking his dry lips. </p><p>Robb offers him the cup and Jon sits up just enough to be able to drink. It helps a little, against the cold inside. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” Jon croaks, horrified at his own voice. “I’m behaving impossibly, I know.” </p><p>“A little,” Robb says with a weak smile. “You slept for three days straight. We’re all worried.” </p><p>“Sorry,” Jon says again, sitting up properly. “It’s just – I’ve been so tired.” </p><p>“I know. Well, at least you missed out on the fit Mother has thrown after you were out of sight. I’ve never seen her so outraged.” </p><p>“She must loathe me even more now.” To his surprise, Jon finds he doesn’t really care. </p><p>“You could say that.” Robb smiles apologetically. “According to her you will get to know every one of the seven hells in intimate detail. She forbade us all to associate with you. Well,” he adds, “she forbade the children. She knows she can’t tell me what to do and what not.” </p><p>“That’s her right as a mother.” The thought still stings, but then that’s only what was to be expected. “How’s Arya holding up with it?” </p><p>“Oh please.” Robb snorts. “Not one of them has kept to Mother’s order. They’ve all been here to bring you something to eat and check if you’re still breathing, even Rickon. He brought you wild strawberries.” </p><p>“Oh, those were from him?” Jon smiles absentmindedly. “I have to go and thank them all.” </p><p>“You should. I’ve never seen Sansa forgo a portion of her beloved lemon cakes before.” </p><p>“Sansa?” Jon frowns, trying to remember if he ate lemon cakes at some point. “I’d have thought she’d obey her mother.” </p><p>“Och, you know her, always the advocate for true love.” Robb tries to wink, and fails. “You’re a tragic hero in her eyes now, bravely defying a world that opposes your love. If I’m not entirely mistaken she’s already started on a new shirt for you.” </p><p>“That’s… really sweet of her. Gods. Not so brave, am I,” Jon mumbles, shame making his cheeks grow hot. “Hiding away in my bed like a spoiled child.” </p><p>“Are you feeling better now?” Robb bends his head, peering into Jon’s eyes. “You still look tired.” </p><p>“I don’t think I am, only… it’s strange. I’m waiting for it to hurt, but there’s nothing.” Jon shrugs, looking down on his hands. “Has there been any – did you have any news?” </p><p>“Not yet.” Robb’s face is soft, sympathetic. “He’ll just have reached the coast by now.” </p><p>“Aye.” There’s a twinge of something in his chest, a hollow echoing of the pain he expects to feel. “He’ll be busy for some time, I know.” </p><p>“Jon–”</p><p>“I’ll be alright.” Jon smiles at his brother, fighting to keep the smile on his face. It seems to glide off, like water off a duck’s back. “Enough of this childishness. I don’t even want to know what Father says to my behaviour.” </p><p>“He hasn’t said anything in particular,” Robb says. “But I know he talked to the servants and everyone else. He tried to reason with Mother. Lots of yelling. I don’t think he’s angry at you.” </p><p>“That’s more kindness than I deserve.” Jon slowly swings his legs out of bed, frowning when he notices how stiff he is. “I think I need a good round of training. I’ll be all out of practice.” </p><p>“I’ll go easy on you,” Robb promises with a grin. “At least for the first ten minutes.” </p><p>The next few days go by uneventful, dull, empty. Jon does everything he did before his life changed so much; he spars with Robb, he plays with the little ones, he pores over the books recommended to him by Maester Luwin. Life goes on like it always did, but everything feels different. There’s no joy in disarming Robb, nothing he eats tastes like it used to, even the sun seems dull and watery. The only times when Jon feels able to breathe are the hours he goes out riding, together with Ghost, sometimes the other wolves. </p><p>He rides through the wolfswood without a real destination in mind, over the hills surrounding Winterfell. The peace and quiet in them is soothing, only him and the sky. Sometimes Jon will ride up onto a hill, not unlike the one he’d looked down at Winterfell from, a lifetime ago, together with Theon. <em> Nothing will change</em>, he hears him say in his mind, and then it hurts for just a moment before the emptiness returns. No message has come from Pyke yet, and as the days turn into weeks Jon starts to wonder if there’ll ever be one. </p><p>Maybe Theon is too busy establishing himself, gaining the respect of his people, getting everything in order after the horrors of the failed revolution. Or maybe he’s already forgotten about Jon, maybe he’s found himself a proper Ironborn girl. Jon climbs down from his horse, turning to look southeast, in the direction where Theon had gone. </p><p><em> Elska means love. </em> </p><p>Had he really loved Jon? Had he meant it? Or had it been just another parting gift, a consolation prize for a broken heart? Jon looks down at his hand, at the ring sitting there. The skin beneath it has really turned green, but Jon doesn’t care. It’s all he has left of Theon, the ring and the memories, and those he doesn’t dare to touch, not yet. He’s scared of them. </p><p>Jon turns to leave, hesitating when his eye is caught by something moving in the distance. A rider, Jon realizes, making his way in his direction. Probably a visitor for Father, a messenger. For a moment Jon’s heart beats faster at the thought that maybe the message is for himself, that maybe the man brings word from the islands, but the thought is ridiculous. Why would Theon go to all the trouble of hiring a mounted messenger when he can simply send a raven? No, the rider will mean to see Lord Stark. </p><p>And yet Jon still hesitates, waiting for the man to come nearer. He feels stupid, hoping for a letter so much he’ll lie in wait to ambush this poor man. He’ll probably not even look at Jon on his way to Winterfell. Jon busies himself with his horse’s saddle, refusing to stand there and gawk like a child. Finally he can hear hooves beating the ground, coming closer, then suddenly slowing down not far away, stopping completely. He arranges his face into a politely inquiring expression, trying to appear as if he’s only just noticed someone is coming his way. Jon looks up, and then his breath catches as he sees – it can’t be true. His mind is playing tricks on him. It can’t be<em> him</em>. </p><p>“Riding alone?” Theon asks casually, gliding from his horse’s back. The wind is whipping his hair, even longer now, around his face. He’s smiling. “How brave of you. The hills are crawling with shadowcats.” </p><p>“What–” Jon shakes his head, trying to clear it. “What are you doing here?” </p><p>“Coming back,” Theon says. He doesn’t come closer, just looks at Jon with an unsure gaze. “If you still want me.” </p><p>“I thought you were going home!” </p><p>Jon almost yells it, doesn’t understand what is happening. At that Theon’s face changes; he sneers as impressively as ever. </p><p>“What do you think I’m doing, you utter moron?” </p><p>A sob rises in Jon’s throat, and suddenly he’s smiling, a wide smile, the first real smile since Theon had left. Theon’s answering smile is brilliant, and suddenly the distance between them is gone and Theon is there, his hands cradling Jon’s face, his eyes shining with something that takes Jon’s breath away, makes him stammer nonsense. </p><p>“You can’t – how could you – why–” </p><p>“It took some time to realize,” Theon says, his thumbs stroking Jon’s cheeks, wiping away the first tears. “It’s pretty damn stupid, clinging to a place that holds nothing but long faded memories, where I’m not wanted…” For a moment Theon’s smile wavers. “Especially when there’s somewhere I <em> am </em> wanted – if I still am?”</p><p>“So much,” Jon whispers. “Nothing has changed.”</p><p>“Everything has changed,” Theon says firmly. “Pyke, those bloody islands… they mean nothing. You’re my home.”</p><p>He bends his head in the same moment that Jon gets on his tiptoes to meet his mouth, his arms wrapping around Jon’s waist and pulling him close. Jon trembles, opens his mouth to let Theon in, lets him take away what’s left of the pain and loneliness, erase the last shred of doubt. The hole in Jon’s chest is gone, as if it hadn’t ever existed. Theon is here, is really here with him. </p><p>“I love you,” Theon whispers against Jon’s mouth. “I love you more than the sea. You’re stuck with me, Snow, for the rest of our lives.” </p><p>“Not Snow,” Jon says, dodging out of reach when Theon tries to kiss him again. </p><p>“Alright, no more Snow. Only one name for you from now on.” Theon kisses the tip of Jon’s nose. “<em>Elska. </em>My love.” </p><p>“You sound like Sansa,” Jon says teasingly, his heart so full he’s afraid it’ll burst. “I would never have thought you to be a romantic, Greyjoy.” </p><p>“Insufferable brat,” Theon mutters, “I’ll show you romance the moment I have you in a bed.” </p><p>“Then what are we waiting for?” Jon kisses Theon again, lingering, breathing in his familiar scent before he moves back. “We can go on one horse, if you like.” </p><p>For a moment Theon looks puzzled, then he laughs, pulling Jon back into his arms, his voice shaking when he murmurs in Jon’s ear.</p><p>“Only one horse, wherever we’ll go. There, that’s true romance for you.” </p><p>“Horse abuse, rather.” Jon smiles against Theon’s neck. “And where will we go? I promised you the sea.” </p><p>“Nowhere. Anywhere, I don’t care. As long as I’m with you, elska.” </p><p>Theon sniffles, his shoulders trembling, and Jon’s chest tightens with love. </p><p>“Crybaby,” he whispers gently, and, “I love you.” </p><p>“God knows why,” Theon grumbles, sheepishly wiping at his face. “I treated you appallingly.” </p><p>“Know what, you’re right,” Jon says, pulling his face into a deep scowl as he worms his way out of Theon’s arms. “How do you think you’re going to rectify this?”</p><p>“Oh, you know, the usual.” Theon shrugs. “Flowers, ballads, my fabulous cock…”</p><p>“Not good enough, Greyjoy.” </p><p>“Hmmm…” Theon taps his chin thoughtfully. “Maybe you’ll have to punish me after all. Would that be acceptable?”</p><p>“That’s a given anyway,” Jon says, blushing furiously. “Keep trying.”</p><p>“How about this?” Theon asks, taking Jon’s hand. </p><p>The teasing look in his eyes has vanished, and Theon clears his throat, slowly going down on his knees. He looks up at Jon, so much tenderness on his face Jon wants to cry. </p><p>“I pledge myself to you once again, Jon Stark,” Theon says solemnly. “I pledge to kiss you good night and good morning every day for the rest of our lives. I pledge to be there for you, come hell or high water. I pledge to be a pain in your neck until you wish to strangle me. I pledge to love you in this world and the next.” </p><p>Jon can barely breathe, can only stand there and stare at Theon. </p><p>“Will you accept my pledge? Will you let me love you the way you deserve?” </p><p>“I accept your pledge,” Jon whispers. “I am yours.” </p><p>“Yours,” Theon says as he gets to his feet, his smile as bright as the sun. “Forever, elska.” </p><p>He takes Jon in his arms, holds him, whispers more sweet words of love into Jon’s hair. Jon closes his eyes, listening. Whatever will happen now, they’ll be together. Theon is his home, too. They’re finally both home. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Okay so did anyone want a really happy, sappy ending? Tho it's not quite yet the end. :) </p><p>I think maybe I'll write the missing scene where Theon meets Ash and they go to Pyke sometime... I'm not quite ready to part with this verse. </p><p>In other news, I have set up a little thing to help me decide which fic to write next. If you like my stuff, please consider casting your vote <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25208608">HERE</a></p>
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<a name="section0042"><h2>42. Chapter 42</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello dears! </p><p>Last real chapter... I'm a bit teary-eyed. This has been an incredible time for me, sharing this fic with all of you, reading your comments and getting so many kudo notification all the time. Gods know I'm going to miss that. :') </p><p>THANK YOU to everyone who's been with the boys on their journey, to all of you who have read, liked, commented, bookmarked, etc. I can't say how much this means to me. </p><p>Okay... here we go!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“So, she takes one look at me, like this,” Theon says, arranging his face into a disbelieving grimace. “And then she says, <em> what the fuck, you look like a little boy dressed for a carnival. </em>And then she fucking draws her dirk and comes at me!” Theon snorts derisively. “Of course I could totally have overpowered her, but you know me, I’m too gallant for that.” </p><p>“Of course you are.” </p><p>They’re outside of the castle, on a small clearing in the wolfswood. Theon’s lying with his head in Jon’s lap, not for the first time relating his meeting with his sister with great exaggeration. </p><p>“I mean, don’t get me wrong. It was good to see Pyke again. I already miss the sea, a lot, but it’s nowhere near as bad as missing you has been.” Theon sighs, making a face. “It’s not what I thought it would be. Dreary and desolate. I didn’t fit in… you Starks have ruined me forever. One of you at least.” He gives Jon a small smile. “I don’t think anyone was sorry to see me go.” </p><p>He says it lightly, but there’s still a tightness to his voice, something close to bitterness.</p><p>“I stand by my promise,” Jon says. “We’ll go together, find a place to stay for a while, somewhere near the sea.” He prods at the tiny knob in Theon’s nose, the only evidence left from his collision with Robb’s fist. “Father said he’ll look into it, see if anything comes up.” </p><p>“I heard Fat Tom say that there may be some more men needed at Stony Shore. Seems the raids from certain islands have started anew.” Theon grins, wagging his eyebrows. “Now that would be fun, greeting my dear sister with an arrow pointing at her heart.” </p><p>“Is she really that bad?” </p><p>“What? Of course she is,” Theon says. “To be honest, I quite like her. It’ll be fun to spar with her. Besides, I’d love to introduce you to her. One look at your pretty face and she’ll understand why I would choose my exile in the North over those desolate islands. Might have to fight her off of you.”</p><p>Jon smirks at that, his face heating up. He’s still somewhat unable to believe that this is really happening, that Theon is really back. That everything can really have worked out so well… </p><p>Of course it had been awkward at first. Father had called them into his solar, had given them a very embarrassing, very long talk about appropriate behaviour as long as they’re out in public, and of course both Theon and Jon had promised to be on their best behaviour. It still happens sometimes that Theon will take Jon’s hand, that Jon will lean against him for a moment. There have been incidents involving a flustered Robb happening upon them at the pools, or a gaping stable boy stumbling over them in an empty box… but all in all they do their best, keep it to their room. <em> Room. </em> Singular. </p><p>That’s indisputably the best part, no more sneaking out of each other’s beds in the early morning, no more fear of getting caught unawares. It had taken Jon some time to get used to Theon’s belongings clattering up all the space – a true feat, considering most of his clothing is still in his old room – or waking up to Theon whimpering at night, tossing and turning when one of the nightmares comes back. It doesn’t happen often, and usually he calms down quickly when Jon touches his hair, whispers his name. But that’s nothing compared to the fact that he has Theon with him every night, falls asleep with him, wakes up to him every morning. </p><p>King Robert’s reaction to Theon’s formless abdication had been astonishingly mild. He’d only sent Father a short message along the lines of, oh well, let the Greyjoy girl have it then, how much trouble can she be. (“Ha,” Theon had said to that.) No word about how both Theon and Jon had defied his orders, no mention of a punishment… Father had been surprised too, had muttered something about the king being distracted by other, more important matters. Whoring and drinking, Jon suspects, from what he knows. </p><p>And then comes another letter from the capital, containing disconcerting news. The king’s hand, a man named Jon Arryn, is dead. Father is visibly distraught, grieving for a man who’d been like a father to him when he’d been fostered at Lord Arryn’s castle as a boy, together with King Robert. And there’s something else – the king is coming to Winterfell, bringing his whole court. This prospect has all of them in uproar – everyone but Theon. </p><p>“I honestly couldn’t care less,” he says with a shrug. They’re at Tommy’s to get their hair cut for the king’s arrival, him and Jon and Robb, and Theon pushes Jon to go first. “Don’t you cut off too much,” Theon instructs the barber when he buries his hands in Jon’s hair, tilting his head to the side. “I’ve grown quite used to his wooly head.” </p><p>“Have you now,” Jon mutters, making a face when the shears start to ominously snip in his neck. “What about you?” </p><p>“You’re going to braid it for me, of course.” Theon grins. “I really want to see the Kingslayer’s face when he rides through the gate and sees a younger version of my uncle waiting for him.” </p><p>“Bet that’s still a sore spot,” Robb muses. “Having Euron Greyjoy cornered, after the hellfire he rained down on the Lannisters, and then they let him escape.” </p><p>“Exactly.” Theon leans against the wall, jealously watching every single curl of Jon’s that sails to the ground. “Alright, that’s enough. I wonder why the king is even bringing all those people. His wife and the children, fine. Maybe he actually likes them, stranger things have happened. But his wife’s brothers? Even the imp? What business can <em> he </em> have in Winterfell?” Theon grins, wagging his eyebrows. “Maybe talk of Ros’ skills has reached even the capital.”</p><p>Jon rolls his eyes at that while he tries to keep as still as possible as Tommy runs the sharp razor over his chin. Theon does go to visit Ros every now and then, and he’s still trying his hardest to get Jon to join him. So far he’s been able to resist. </p><p>“I’ve heard whispering,” Robb says, taking Jon’s place in front of Tommy. “Rumor has it Jon Arryn didn’t die of a natural cause. And I’ve heard…” He drops his voice to a low murmur. “I’ve heard the Lannisters can’t be trusted.” </p><p>“Some news,” Theon snorts, but Jon listens attentively. </p><p>“Father and King Robert have always been close,” he says. “There’s no one he trusts more.”</p><p>“Aye. He’s going to ask Father to be his Hand, I’m sure of it.” </p><p>“You think he’ll accept?” Theon’s gaze wanders from Robb to Jon and he grins. “Drowned fuck, Jon, will you quit holding your breath? You look very decorative without such efforts.”</p><p>“You’re one to talk, Greyjoy. Careful before you strain a tummy muscle.” Robb gets up, rubbing his freshly shaved chin. “Gods, I feel naked now.” </p><p>“Stop complaining, Stark, you know you look good.” Theon sits down for his turn, rolling his eyes when Jon glowers at him. “I’d say, you too, but honestly, Jon… you look five years younger all of a sudden. Now stop pouting, that only makes it worse.”</p><p>“Is it really that bad?” Jon asks once they’re back in their room to change into fresh clothes. “It’s just, I heard the Kingslayer is really pretty, and I wouldn’t want him to think I look like a thirteen year old.”</p><p>“That’s not funny,” Theon says, cocking an eyebrow. </p><p>“Neither is saying Robb looks good and I don’t,” Jon retorts, yelping when Theon catches his wrist and pulls him against his chest. “Let go of me, you moron!”</p><p>“I didn’t explicitly say you don’t look good,” Theon says, rubbing his nose over Jon’s smooth cheek. “Mmm, I like how that feels… I just said you look younger. That’s not a bad thing. You look… <em> cute.</em>” </p><p>“Cute my arse,” Jon grouses, and then he yelps again when Theon spins them around and shoves Jon down onto the bed. For a short while Jon lets himself be kissed before he breaks away. “Do you think Father will have to go to King’s Landing?”</p><p>“Probably,” Theon says, undoing the lacing on Jon’s tunic. “If the king wants him as his Hand he’ll have to live at court.”</p><p>“It’ll be strange, being here when Father is not. Lady Catelyn–”</p><p>“<em>Robb</em>,” Theon says firmly, dragging Jon’s tunic over his head. “Even with your father gone, your brother will still be here. It’s his word that counts, not his mother’s.” He wraps his fingers around Jon’s neck, squeezing slightly. “And don’t forget that I’m still here, too. We’ll still be together, elska. And there’s always Stony Shore waiting for us.”</p><p>Jon leans forward, capturing Theon’s mouth in a demanding kiss. His hands get adventurous, slipping under Theon’s tunic where he finds his nipples already hard and round. He palms at them, stroking and massaging until Theon groans in Jon’s mouth – a knock on the door has Jon jolt upright, breaking away with a gasp. </p><p>“Seven hells,” he mutters as he slips off the bed. “One really can’t have a moment of peace around here.” </p><p>“Whoever it is, tell them to fuck off,” Theon says, helpfully ridding himself of his tunic and leaning back against their pillows. “I plan on spending the next hours making you scream.”</p><p>“Hold that thought,” Jon says over his shoulder as he marches to open the door. “Yes?” he curtly asks the girl standing in front of it. </p><p>Her eyes grow as big as saucers as she takes in his shirtless state, and when she looks over his shoulder and sees Theon on the bed her mouth falls open. </p><p>“Beg… er… pardon, m’lord,” she stammers, curtseying stiffly. “Your Lord Father asks you to meet him in the crypt. It’s important, he said, and that it’s time.” </p><p>After delivering her message she continues to stand there and gape, and Jon rolls his eyes. Time for what? Jon doesn’t ask. The girl wouldn’t know anyway.</p><p>“Thank you,” he says, “I’ll go to see him at once.” And with that he closes the door right into her stunned face, turning to Theon with an exasperated sigh. “What in the world can he want me for in the <em> crypt</em>?”</p><p>“Fucked if I know.” Theon gives Jon a hot glance, letting his hand wander down his chest, lingering at his stomach before he suggestively cups the bulge in his breeches. “Maybe he wants to send you off again, now that the king is coming.” </p><p>“He can’t send me off, I’m not a bastard anymore. But then, fine by me, honestly.” Jon shrugs. “I have no desire to meet this particular king.”</p><p>“Maybe <em> I </em> will be the one having to vanish this time,” Theon muses. “After all I did defy his orders, didn’t I?” He grins. “Get your arse over here, former Snow. You can go in ten minutes, the wait won’t kill your lord father. Can’t be that important.” </p><p>“Ten minutes?” Jon asks, raising an eyebrow as he sheds his breeches on his way to the bed. “A moment ago you were talking of hours. I won’t risk his disapproval for <em> ten minutes.</em>” </p><p>“Twenty minutes?” Theon tries when Jon climbs into his lap. “Thirty… last offer.” </p><p>“Deal,” Jon mumbles before he lets Theon kiss him, rocking against him and making him gasp. </p><p>No, Jon decides when Theon nibbles at his collarbone, when Theon’s fingers tangle in his hair, pulling Jon closer. Whatever it is Father wants to tell him <em> this </em> time – it can’t be anything important. </p><p> </p><p>~ FIN ~</p><p>(almost)</p><p><br/>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>...and NOW Game of Thrones starts. What will be different? Jon will go down to talk to Ned after Theon is done ravishing him, and he'll learn the truth. Will he tell anyone? Even Theon? What'll happen with a Jon who knows? </p><p>Will Theon and Jon go to Pyke to ask Asha for ships for Robb? Will they somehow end up North? There's a certain sword Jon needs to aquire... Or maybe he'll get a different one? Somewhere there's Dawn (I always liked the idea of Jon getting Arthur Dayne's sword and armour 😊), or even Dark Sister. </p><p>So many possibilities... </p><p>I am definitely not ready to part with this verse yet. Next part will be Theon's adventures on the Iron Islands, and how he formed the decision to go back. After that... who knows? I have many ideas. Soooo, I turned this into the Law of North Collection series. If you want to get notifications, please do subscribe to either the series or the author (which has the added benefit of getting notification for all of said author's works 😬😬😬) </p><p>Enough rambling... go and look at the surprise 😘<br/>(It would mean the world to me if you left some nice words for the artist on the last chapter 😊)</p>
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<a name="section0043"><h2>43. Chapter 43</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sooooo here's the surprise I was talking about! </p><p>Like, for as long as I've been in the GoT fandom and writing fics, it's been one of my biggest wishes to actually get fanart for one of my stories, someone feeling inspired, or loving it so much they commission a piece of art. And for this story, I decided to do it myself. A special ending. </p><p>(Little did I know at the time that my WIP The Horny Kraken Prince would inspire the incredibly talented Buena to actually make fanart! Please go look at her work <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25002163/chapters/60539827">Kraken Theon</a>, it's absolutely stunning!!)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
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</p><p>[Image Description: Ned is waiting for Jon in the Winterfell Crypt, talking to the statue of his sister Lyanna: "He's got the timeliness from you..."]</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This fanart I commissioned from the incredibly talented artist <a href="https://junk-ren.tumblr.com/post/613521853461544960/from-this-i-like-wild-looking-older-harry-tbh">@junk-ren</a> - please go look at her tumblr, her work (in all fandoms) is absolutely amazing! All credit to her for giving me this wonderful pic of Ned to share with you! I'll give her the link to this chapter so she'll get to see what you guys think :)</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I know I know, WIPs are dangerous... but please have faith in me XD</p><p>As always, comments and love in general go a long way in motivating me to write more and faster 😬😬😬</p></blockquote></div></div>
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